The wind whispers an apology

The wind whispers an apology

Nothing it hasn’t said already

Whatever promises made today

Will be broken tomorrow

It is in its nature to blow

Every which way.

Whatever else would it be for

If it is not to remonstrate,

Taking little heed of caution.

Will it not usher in change

As it would distribute life,

Casting the fates

Scattering them like ashes.

Sycamore trees

That once were helicopters

Whirling on the breeze,

Now bent low before it

Desperate to hold on

To their dignity.

The wind, ignorant of cruelty

Lays bare the earth

Scours the hills

Toys with falling leaves

As it whistles through vacant halls.

Angry seas toss their whitecaps

In answer,

Eager to joust

The playful lust of

A precocious wind,

A fretful sea,

Rages on

Endlessly

As a pliant earth is unmade

Heartlessly.