(A poem I picked up and reworked after finding it from my grade school papers)
It blows, it flows, and nobody knows the true shape of the wind.
Where one breeze ends or another begins?
It spins and plays on warm summer days.
Yet chilling and bold in the stark winter’s cold.
It howls at night under soft moonlight.
It shakes the trees and steals their leaves,
helping high-honking geese fly in southerly Vs.
It puffs up the clouds so fluffy and proud and dries up all the rain.
Spreading parachute plants and helicoptering seeds,
speeding the birds and the bees on their way.
It whirls up the whirlpools by the river’s wide mouth,
with blusters and blasts as it helps the storms pass
from north, east, west or south.
No colors it shows wherever it goes and truly there’s no doubt.
For all of us sailors, pinwheel pushers and kite-flying flag-waivers,
the wind will always blow about.
by D. Ryan Lafferty
Literary Crumbs: Poems & Short Stories to Savor by D. Ryan Lafferty 