Poeta Nascitur, Non Fit

6

i love the sound of wind
as it whooshes by my face,
echoing through my ears.
the cool wisp of spring air still reminiscent
of the last winter chill.
the whispering fellow against my cheek
reveals the same secrets that the conc shell holds,
but only if you are willing to listen.
it's playful tryst breeds a warmth at the center of my soul,
and my eyes flutter closed at its wistful notion.
nature has a way of unburdening one's mind.