Tuesday, November 19, 2019

The Wind

And the wind, buffeting wind,
The wind that tears and grinds upon the wild places
The wind that smirks at the oak and the beech and the hickory
The wind that laughs in its freedom and strength and they feel
As it pulls at their roots and their branches and their green leaves.

Crashing around the victims are heard.  Dark and storm conceal them but
The violence of their destruction rings out,
Blocking off the mind, filling the vision,
Making the crashing and the destruction seem the only view left.

...but though there is some crashing, though it feels forlorn and dark and horrid,
The Elm and the Sweet Gum and the Oak take feeble heart
They hold their breath against the smirking wind and they know that
Though it tears and rends and holds its sway,
Though it pulls and its torrents shake them, buffet them…
They need but bend and hold their roots to the deep soil
The morning will come and the wind, with naught to hold it here, will blow away
And the Oak and the Beech and the Elm will sigh and it will be
A memory in the sunshine and dewy morning

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