Whispering Wind - Poem by Charles Hill
Soft winds knead the grass,
Like bakers kneading dough,
blowing gently alas,
Hugging the grass low. Leaves rustling in the wind,
Creating an impeccable tune,
While tree limbs slightly bend,
Gentle as a harvest moon. I walk through towering pines,
Hearing whispering wind blow,
Music so soft and fine,
Generating a grand symphonic show. Never stop whispering to the ear.
Blow soft don't squall.
Just keep blowing near,
Bringing joy to all.
Comments about Whispering Wind by Charles Hill
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You