By Gary Goodloe

There's a wind that blows from the frigid north that can chill deep to the bone,
It's a swirling blustery spectra, leave you gasping, lost, alone.
There's a wind that blows from the southern climes like a lovers' tender kiss,
whispering flirtatiously, think what you might miss.
There's a wind that blows from the eastern
shore, a salty, stinging spray,
Like an urgent shout or warning bell
should you venture out that way.
There's a wind that blows down the western
slopes, an enticing, rhythmic call,
Hinting most suggestively, you could have
it all.
When they come together, for they often do
conspire, the trees bow low, the oceans
heave and the clouds flee their ire.
The aftermath of such a storm brings
sunshine, peace, tranquility,
A phoenix rising from its' ashes veiled in
possibility.
Winds have come and winds have gone,
they've helped to shape Mans' history,
Yet with all their force and fury, they
remain a mystery.
There are winds of change and winds of war,
But...wind is wind, no less...no more.

Submitted By HappyLuv

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