The wind it whistles wild and bold,
Blossoms tumble with its force.
And daffodils bend their heads of gold,
As off it travels on its course.
With power it holds all in its sway,
The trees they stand so strong and tall,
But even their branches have to obey,
This turbulent unrelenting squall.
You sense it in a petal's fall,
And in the compression of the grass.
Yet you don't see the wind at all,
Invisible. Though you feel it pass.
It can be gentle for a spell,
With soft carresses, soothing, cool.
But once enraged, it's hard to quell,
And has its own established rule.
Depending on its strength and might,
All things are submissive to its will.
The wind in all its glorious flight,
Is something, we can never still.
© Ernestine Northover
A fine rhythmical piece expressing the wonder and awe of nature's breath, the wind, in all its myriad of forms - from the tiniest whisper against the cheek to the most terrifying clash of might and force. A glorious flight indeed. love, Allie xxxx
I think that I must be different in some way to most, because I actually love hearing the wind, something very mystical and beautiful about it's power Thankyou again darling for another great piece Love duncan X
And your poem is like a cool breeze...with the pleasing structure and its content. Love...TO
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
One has come to expect great works from you Ernestine and this one is no exception. Beautifully syntax, lovely flow and one to treasure. Andrew xxx