And then the wind blows.
The flowers stop their swaying
Just to listen to that-
The gentle call of the wind
That comes sweeping like a scythe
Through the fields.
The wind blows across the sea
And the waves stop their crashing
Just to pick up the whispers
Of the howling wind smashing off
Any found surface, with a
Giant, rough force.
The wind blows into my house
Through the closed windows
Just to let me hear what
I want to hear. And like so,
It's always telling me
Things I want to hear.
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