The Wind

Blowing, whirling, stuff of our breath;

The cause of the weather, of life and death;

Carrier of clouds, of airplanes and jets;

Is the invisible force of wind.

The medium of song, and source of our voice,

The word can take meaning, and for this we rejoice;

Yet the evil influence of infection rides in on it’s choice,

For the wind has a mind of it’s own.

Mighty trees do bend and can snap in it’s grip;

Even the oceans are stirred up as the wind does rip;

Fire get inflamed and the cold wind does nip;

Yet we know it only by it’s effects.

We can’t quite touch it, though we certainly feel it;

We can’t quite see it, though movement reveals it;

We can’t even smell it, though fragrance relies on it;

Just what is this phenomenon called wind?

Molecules moving from hot to cold;

The voice of the spirits, young and old;

No explanations explain it, no matter how bold;

For the wind is beyond our words.

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