If the wind could speak, who would really listen?

If the wind could feel, whose arms would it be in?

If the wind could cry, who’d comfort it and wipe its
tears?

If the wind could smell, would it smell death and
destruction over flowers and it’s own freshness?

The wind is fierce today…perhaps in a hurry
to cleanse and unburden itself of so many trifling
secrets.

If the wind did speak all it knows, all at once, we’d
be deaf.

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