The Wind

The Wind

It sings an invisible song through the night air.

It makes its presence known

By the bend and sway of the trees.

To and fro, to and fro.

Its touch can be as gentle as a lover

Or soothing to a weathered brow.

It can not be held within a grasp,

Only felt.

To and fro, to and fro.

It carries with it no prejudice.

But yet, no mercy.

It does not judge, nor does it choose,

It simply moves.

To and fro, to and fro.

It laps a field of grain, a body of water

Like a thirsty beast.

Within each, it makes waves.

To and fro, to and fro.

It takes and it gives.

Carrying on its mission,

With no other thought as to why.

It crosses mountains, deepest valleys.

To and fro, to and fro.

It feels no emotion

But can screech with the vengeance

Of a heart scorned, moving on

To and fro, to and fro.

Its purpose is to simply be.

Taking command from all other forces of nature

Or angels of greatness.

Never pausing to look back,

always moving forward.

To and fro, to and fro.

It flies on shapeless wings,

Lifting the prayers to the heavens.

Never caring, only being

The wind.

To and fro, to and fro.

Author: Ruthie Reeves