Not much can be said of the windy day
Other than what can be said, of what may.
Like anything else that is grand in scope
A windy day requires a bit of rope;
That it might be caught for the rest of us
And shown off as a windy sign of trust.
But what is trust in a thing that still moves
Even when you've caught it? It's gentle grooves
Change even the stubbornest grey rock
Into dust, which eventually turns stalk;
That is the growth of cellar fiber from
The ground that grows upwards and soon becomes
A beautiful flower. Not much is said,
Yet still, great towers of words may be read.
What is in the Wind anyway? (c) Luke Bennette, May 2012
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