Wind Song
In my chair near the window
I can hear the wind howl through
the brick, and echo off concrete
as it passes its rumors fro and to.
The whisper of the wind calls my
name as sweetly as a lover might.
I shiver at the nip of its sharp teeth,
pull my old blanket round me tight.
Once winds of spring murmured
to me of love and delight to be had.
Told me stories of things awaiting me,
whispered softly of the good and bad.
Summer wind sang to me of desire.
Hot flames that no wind could tame.
Blowing hotly round my curiosity,
delighted with its erotic naughty flame.
September winds were slow and sweet,
cooling the fever of a riotous mind.
Winds that whispered of contentment,
winds that were so soft and so kind.
Now winter’s wind circles me round,
seeking small places that it may creep
under my blanket and blow frigid on
my toes as I prepare for final sleep.
Oh, it whispered to me all my life,
but I never noticed it was even there.
I shiver as it tells me tales of other
universes, but soon I will no longer care.
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