THAR SHE BLOWS
I saw the evidence of the existence
of the “wind” today,
rippling through running remnants
of Autumn’s aftermath,
playing a timpani on the chords
of crisp clinking limbs,
holding the hawk in hover,
playing with the kites
of billowing plastic bags,
ruffling the feathers
of the stoic Owl,
teasing the cat with
the laughter of playful leaves,
leaning on the old wooden fence.
I have seen the...
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