The Wind

The Wind

The wind hurried 

through the trees

her airy fingers

brushed through the leaves

Her song was whispered

in the boughs

of every tree

The lofty pine, the weary willows

The scent 

of green things growing

was carried in her arms

billows never slowing

Dust from the plow

gave her a form

but soon vanished away

lost in her storm

The wind

has her solace 

In the deserts of the land

It is her special place

Let her be 

let her roam

Pity her

She has no home.

RJVK

 31 June, 2020