The Wayward Wind
April winds.
Cold but dry.
Rambling around
Buildings, tall and short.
They seem to have a voice:
Come back to me.
Come back to me.
I hate such wayward winds
They insist
I miss you so.
I miss you so.
My heart is like a stone.
She left.
Her fault
Blow wind blow
In its lamenting tunes.
But then it slowed.
It was a wind no more.
A soft breeze had blown
The clouds away.
A knock on the door.
There she stood,
Eyes sparkling
Lips quivering.
I came to prepare breakfast
Just for you and me.
The kiss was long and lingering.
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