Come wind
Come blow
Come scatter leaf.
Come stroke my skin
Come touch my soul.
Bring ocean salt
Bring desert sand.
Bring Indus' spice,
Bring scent of rose.
Then fill the garden with your voice.
Then sing out wind
Sing autumn's song.
Too soon the sunning
Will be gone.
Odd thing...all the trees on my street are turning colors...except the one in front of my house they go from green to dead then fall. I personally believe they are committing Sepiku that they do not lose face to the coming winter.
ReplyDeletewalking man...I think that your fierce summer has frightened nature! and then the thought of bitter, bitter winters...where is it all going to end!
ReplyDeleteGreat poem, very calming!
ReplyDeletethankyou natasha!
ReplyDeleteLovely stuff Gerry - particularly as it was written after living it up at Willow's ball.
ReplyDeleteDarn wind. Okay, I know, we can't have summer ALL YEAR. Sigh.
ReplyDelete