If I should write of the wind

Until my hands are sweetly sore

And the ink in my quill has all dried up

Until it isn’t anymore,

I wonder if my windy words

Would soon begin to bore…

But then…I pause to ponder love

That has been written so dearly of

A thousand, thousand times before

How love once true never tires

Of climbing its towering castle spires

Laced with delicious phrases

Edged in luscious mazes

Of many a moment

Tenderly spent…

Why then should the wind,

Be any different

As gusty he sweeps

and blustery he blows

Lifting me high from off my toes

I need not touch

The sturdy ground below

As He tickles away my fear

To softly declare in my listening ear

All the beautiful wheres

That ever we shall go

All because…the wispy wind does blow,

Rather the same as love I muse

If the wind is such

And love is more and much

Why then should life be any other way…

Than to carry me in the very heart of it

And rock me slow in passion’s sway…

****

ellie894 August 2018

38 thoughts on “If I should write of the wind…

      1. You were going to stop???? Blasphemy.

        Seriously, this one reminded me of the one I recently wrote “feathers.” Just that this was so much for powerful and beautiful.

        I am so in love with this poem. Hope you;re not the jealous type. LOL Please stay inspired.

        Liked by 1 person

      2. Now you’ve given me a grand smile! 😊

        Oh, but “feathers” is wonderful! I loved it!

        Jealous?! Of course not! “Poem” is welcome to all the lovely attention she receives. 😊. I will try, with humble and warm thanks, suzanne🌷

        Liked by 1 person

  1. I love the sea, the sunset, the clouds, but I’ve never given a thought to the wind.
    It’s dark outside, 10.43 pm. Lying in my bed, I close my eyes. The breezes, coming though the window and gently, touching my skin. How comforting. How lovely. The list has been extended, the sea, the sunset, the clouds, and the wind. Thank you, Suzanne ❤️

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Wow, the language is rich and sensuous. Could the wind also be the spirit of someone you lost? You personify it as “He.” I further get the impression of an immortal beyond your dad. Carl Jung wrote that one of his clients dreamed so persistently of a father figure (e.g., one who came to her in a meadow, picked her up, and rocked her like a little girl) that he was convinced of the human readiness in the psyche for a God idea. The God in this woman’s dreams, he thought, was like Wotan (Nordic “Odin”). I read these paragraphs somewhere in _The Portable Jung_, ed. Joseph Campbell. Mostly an enjoyable book.

    I loved the lushness of your images and diction here. Nicely done 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Loquacious laughable limericks…love em! You have given me a smile and I cannot stop thinking –
      There once was a malty named Maxwell… I’ll let you take it from there 😊

      Anyway, thank you, it’s very nice to know so. 🌷

      Like

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