This poem was not written by me. All rights to this poem belong to my good friend Cortland Mahony.
Poetry is the wind we feel in the sky. Calm and gentle she is, but only for a short while. We cherish these moments, but soon it changes, like everything else. She screams at the world, to give hie pain, his suffering, its lose, her depression. Only it will ever know. Bowel for him, but you can't. Its too late now! She's an infuriated tornado. he wreaks havoc all over, causing distress and ache and agony. It has destroyed everything. Oh, but she's so sorry, rueful, grieved. She didn't want pain and suffering, all he wanted was attention, a little heed to himself. This wind is cue in a world of an infinite ammount, and now he leaves, and now you have nothing to help pacify.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem