To the Wind

What says the wind that whispers still,
Between these trees that dot the hills,
With words that don’t resemble ours
Spoken softly or with power,

Whose voluminous body flies,
In wintry gusts mid evening skies,
Driving clouds from height to height
Tilting stubborn trees toward the light,

Shifting titian seas in waves,
And bunkers men indoors for days,
Or carry with the softest ease,
Downy flake from frosty tree,

Awaken Earth from out its rest,
And usher in forgetfulness
Mingle with the conscious seams,
But do not end this morning dream

It’s mournful howl beats fervently
Between this sleepy world and me,
Where voices rarely break the hum
Of rolling clouds in unison...