Wind
The wind is fierce.
Racing through my grief,
No gentle breeze, this—
A terror, a portent, an omen,
Pulling limb from limbs.
Branches shorn:
Rip root from ground.
The winds, they pierce.
Devastating leaf,
Flowers and grass kiss—
Bent, bowed, then broken,
Light through storm cloud dims.
The veil is torn:
Sweet Spirit’s sound.
Posted by
Katy on 04/14/11 at 07:50 PM
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