deepundergroundpoetry.com
Windsong I
Wind is a wondrous
thing, with many faces and
ways both soft and fierce.
Wind is a gentle
thing, delicate like a
baby's sleeping breath.
Wind is a mighty
thing, bringing ancient oaks
and pines to their knees.
Wind is a quiet
thing, caressing fresh new leaves,
whis'pring through tall grass.
Wind is a deadly
thing, whirling in tornadoes
and monstrous typhoons.
Wind is a singing
thing, rushing and whistling through
the branches of trees.
Wind is a giving
thing, brining dark rainclouds to
the driest deserts.
Wind is a wild, free
thing, dancing over the plain,
whirling far away.
Wind is a wondrous
thing, with many faces and
ways both soft and fierce.
thing, with many faces and
ways both soft and fierce.
Wind is a gentle
thing, delicate like a
baby's sleeping breath.
Wind is a mighty
thing, bringing ancient oaks
and pines to their knees.
Wind is a quiet
thing, caressing fresh new leaves,
whis'pring through tall grass.
Wind is a deadly
thing, whirling in tornadoes
and monstrous typhoons.
Wind is a singing
thing, rushing and whistling through
the branches of trees.
Wind is a giving
thing, brining dark rainclouds to
the driest deserts.
Wind is a wild, free
thing, dancing over the plain,
whirling far away.
Wind is a wondrous
thing, with many faces and
ways both soft and fierce.
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