How speaks the wind, what doth it bring?
A beached fish gasp, in terror spent?
Its mind a ball of tangled string,
For fear and dread shall ne’er relent.
Or speaks it thus; an ancient knowing?
Like a stone upon a field of war,
Where men died, grain they now are sowing,
And banshee’s cry is heard no more.
Perhaps it whispers like a lover
To calm the soul with passion’s fire
Upon the skin, caress of clover
Aching dance of heart’s desire
For me, the wind a strange friend be
And I, too, stranger become
Full sails, slipping ‘pon the sea
Forever bound for home…
~Christopher Crittenden
