PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

The wind blows
it sings a song of yesterday, and
its is silent.
The wind blows
it sings a song of love,
a tune we think we know, but
sometimes seem to have forgotten the words.
The wind is still,
yet we listen.
We look, but
the leaves do not fall,
the tree branches do not sway.
We sit alone without song,
we sit alone without love.
The wind blows
it sings a song of what may come, but
the melody
is not for us,
but for another.
One can not expect to hold the wind,
to cherish it alone,
to cage it's song to only one ear.
It is the wind that does the work
that cupid gets the credit for,
his aim is not as great as we would think.
Fate is not ours to control, or
is it for the cherub.
It rests only on the wind.

Cx Patterson