Windy Nights and Mornings
Blackened tendrils take the trees,
Take the skin by follicle,
Empty matter, pushed debris,
Pressed and parabolical.
Zephyrus claims, lack of choice,
Echoes through the aether,
Chaos calms his quiet voice,
To suffer with the weather.
Windows shutter, clap in tune,
Aeolus purring bag and pipe,
Uilleann iron, aural rune,
Despite aptitude and gripe.
Nonetheless the Iris slims,
To folded air in lack of light,
Cluttered ever in the whims,
To that which chances sight.
Copyright © Beej Simrov | Year Posted 2025
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