From the west
odd wind roars;
green leaves of creed
bow violently to singeing eastern sun.
Yellow leaves run
madly after the wild wind,
wind washes roads of root,
festive feast flames with fury.
Villagers call huts;
thatched roofs run
swiftly to catch the winged wind
that settles still
for the rushing rain...
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Comments about this poem (west wind by ifeoluwa dele )
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