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
ellie894 