Flowing Through Me

On an idyllic pathway I travel and I rove,
I come upon, unexpectedly, in a plushy grove,
Along the way, it startles me, to find somebody else,
Delighted in companionship filling me with wealth.

With a newfound friend so pleasant, what is one to do?
Bind yourself to him with rope and with a firm clench, too?
No, but he’s welcomed openly and told goodbye in time,
For he is free to leave me as easily as he’s arrived.


Why is this?
  You now wonder.  I’m wind and it is me,
Allowing passersby to flow right through, unrestrictedly.
Undulating, sinking, and rising, I fly down my path,
Meeting many others, serenely, happily relaxed.

You may think I would collect them, sustaining joy they bring,
Forcing wind to fix to others, that’s a tumultuous, unhealthy thing.
As wind is, I am tormented, when trapped unmutually,
I must be still, unhindered, or move so, breezily.

Wind dissipates then reappears and makes its presence known.
The same is true for me, my friend.  This cannot be controlled.
Wind, powerful, impressive, snaps branches to the ground
And I, impactful too, yet rarely knocking people down.

I know stillness and quiet, like wind that is dearly missed,
Yet I can be ever-moving, a chirpy inconvenience.
A roasting cheek needs comfort, and I of wind, abide and soothe.
However, it does happen, wind chafes and steals youth.

Wind, when permitted to be wind, is magic, like a gift,
Reviving life, electric and new, for man, as we coexist.

My oneness with wind began long ago, I can’t remember when.
I’d do the same in the next lifetime and jump into the wind again.

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