A poem of longing

Oh wind,
turn south
for me
whisper words to
soothe
or prove
my senses are correct,

We advise,
or direct
walk past grace
blithely
we are unwilling..

I am leaking
like a
sieve
holding
no living water

Oh wind, turn to me
kiss my brow
attentively
as limbs
on aged trees
sway so peacefully.

#poetry

Chris

2025