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Secrets Of The Wind
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Poems. The willow tree droops low,
the horizon in the distance.
The playground untouched,
fall leaves building up.
As I sit there alone in the park,
I listen to the wind.
It speaks to me,
it tells me stories.
These stories hold great secrets.
The wind holds the stories;
carrying them thousands of miles.
My ears capture these stories.
Every whistle in the wind,
every sudden gust of wind,
every moment of still, silent air sends a message.
I observe closely,
Not wanting to miss important details.
Everyday, the wind carries a new story;
holding new secrets,
Secrets so powerful,
they could drive one insane.
