The Wind is a purifier
even greater than fire.
He makes beetle bored
bamboo
into a woodwind lyre.
He whistles through chimneys
He's the oldest town crier.
He's a leafblower, a windfall
giver,
a seedspreader, and clothesline dryer.
When Brinks trucks are hit he
blows money all over... he coconspires.
He doesn't like expensive hats....
he's a thief of attire.
He's the lift beneath all sails
who helps each bird soar higher.
He's the voice of every choir,
the breath all life requires.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem