accomplishedI am that wind which
Blows on a cold winter's night.
Fiercely, I clamor,
Snapping twigs, hurling shingles.
I leave ruin where I pass.
A tree leans in the
Gale but does not topple. It
Grows slanted, but whole.
I weep for gladness that this
Sapling has withstood the storm.
Folly to believe
That Light could gentle a wind.
I thought not to know,
Ever, the joy of your smile,
The wonder that is your love.
Lightning crackles hot;
Thunder shakes me to the bone.
A tree is aflame.
No flood of my tears can give
Back what I have just taken.
A windmill stands by
The sea, its blades spinning as
Wind washes through them.
It grinds grain for farmers' bread.
I owe no less of my life.
