DM Babbit Poet Quintain (English)

Wind Talk

There is an art listening to the wind,

   though it goes where it wills.
   trees  trap it in place
   for brief intervals while holding still
   it is kept at a steadfast pace.
   just momentarily, before  released.

In this quick, long second

   there is nothing heard,
   no sounds beyond a rustled silence
   that may go unnoticed except by birds,
   then a soft and sudden rising whistle in defiance
   it pushes forward and skips from tree to tree.

Newly alive, swishing as it hurries

   unawares of spring or summer tempests,
   ignorant of its short now in the autumn blush,
   hanging on tenaciously to every branch that tests it
   whispering between the calm and hush
   looking for an attentive ear to  listen.

Feel the breeze, inhale and listen,

   you can sense its coming on the air
   and if you hesitate or wait to long  
   its is no longer there
   it remains unseen and is moving on
   with no plan to return if the message is unheard.

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