It’s Quiet Here Today

MISSING THE BREEZE

If I write about the wind again, you’ll know
My soul has fled to drift among the clouds;
While my body, heavy, wishes it could go
Fly free as well. A wish held close. Out loud
I wonder at the rise of spring. The snow
Has melted. Buds swell on the waking trees.
I write about the wind, missing the breeze.

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