WIND TALESDoes the wind eavesdrop, when it brushes my face?Can it read the wrinkles, which I have acquired with age?There is a message hidden deep inside me,Is the wind swift enough to know all my tales?

Does it be the envoy, I want it to be?Does it connect her heart with mine, when I am lonely?Does it work under my decree, or is the wind free?Does it act strange, and cry when sad I feel?

Sometimes I wonder, whenever I meet the wind,Is it a message from her, or is it god’s mockery.The way it brushes my face,It seems to tell me a story.

A story that I too am missed and loved.But foolish enough and unexpectedly tough. I think what it is trying to say, but I am not adept to listen,Is that I am wrong, and unright were all my decisions.

I now realize, it’s not a tale, which the wind narrates.It’s my heart which makes me see.As the wind brushes my face,Is the wind smart enough to peruse my story?