The wind is a playmate, frisking around,
The wind is a frog leaping from earth to sky to ground
The wind is a plane, wooshing about
The wind is a shriek, whisper, scream, or shout
The wind is a comforter, bringing a breeze,
The wind is a time-measurer, bringing seasons as it will please
The wind is quite fickle, not for long will it stay
And it makes me wonder who else it helped along its way.
YOU ARE READING
These Insufficient Words
PoetryPoetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words. -Robert Frost This is my own collection of thoughts. My own stories, through the deepest sorrow and highest peaks of happiness I've had in my rather brief life, and s...
