The wind

The wind blows on my

face and I shield it or

embrace it but I control

it not, for it comes when

it will and goes away again,

invisible to the eye but

felt on the skin, and it

moves the trees and does

what it wants, and nothing

can stand in its path, not

all our imaginings and wishes

for a still day, nothing, for

it is a force across the globe,

across our lives, driving boats

and whipping up the sea, and

causing us to smile and shake

with fear at its coming; and nothing 

can hold it, nothing, for the wind 

is its own and belongs to the

earth as the free child that needs

to roam, and restless it is just

like us, filled with streaming energy, 

unending, confronting us in moans

till we at last are hidden tight in the 

cold dank permanence of the ground.

away evermore from its everlasting might.