Gently Soft, The Wind
By John Herlihy

With the coming of dawn, a soft wind blows;
From what direction it comes, nobody knows.
Such a soft wind cannot come from the North;
From whatever direction, its mission sets forth.
This tender breeze sets out in all fine weathers,
To gently rustle the sparrow’s young feathers.
The tall, stately jonquils begin to take notice,
With their open faces holding yellow-gold cups.
Pond waters stir from sleep the beautiful lotus,
That floats imperiously with an attitude deluxe.
Pushed gently by the wind in its secluded realm,
The wind steers the voyage, standing at the helm.

The wind arrives with the precision of the hour,
To give evidence of its incredibly subtle power.
The dying moon this dawn descends as a sliver;
Tree branches bend, autumn leaves now quiver.
Without clear rhyme or reason, the wind emotes,
The weary tale of its journey sounding sad notes.
The tale is full of a mystery that no one can bear;
People listen but see nothing, they can only stare.
Only Mother Nature responds with simple gesture;
Bushes, grass, trees all wave their green vesture.
Nature’s warriors have unfolded their regal robes,
To gather up all the secrets only the wind probes.