THE WIND Poem by Luis Vidales

This wind that's coming is a stranger.
It is not one of those with a proper name.
It is not of the sea, nor of the mountain.
It is not of the hurricanes measured in knots.
It is a stranger this wind that's coming.
From prehistory it comes, it crosses the ages.
It gathers strength in the jungles of men, not of trees.
It grows, it grows, it is already with us, and can pass.
This wind is mild and silky.
But it is rebellion, this wind, this wind.