Thursday, November 11, 2010

Wind Sprites

Breezes playing tag, blowing in my ears and face
Ruffling up my old grey cap of hair now out of place
They really are quite gentle though they're rascals all the same
To tease me is so shameful as they hardly know my name

The little sprites are joyful even when they poke my eyes
Because the tears they cause me , with their kisses, quickly dries
Some of them are warm, gentle signitures of spring
While others are a bit more cold, the last of winter's fling

The twirling and the swirling of their gentle fairy dance
Transitions other seasons where big brothers get a chance
Old man summer's thunderstorms and brother winter's snow
Their sharp swords truly blunted by the spring/fall pixie show

Invisible to sight they play a game of hide and seek
Although the tree leaves warn me just before they kiss my cheek
Their rough and tumble games push down the branches and the grass
And slam the old shed door each time they make a gleeful pass

Two of them across the field will wildly make a dash
And lift up into heaven a discarded piece of trash
Then gently place it down and shift it 'round 'til it fits best
Like a swan who with her down constructs her future signet's nest

Ghostly little cherubs come to herald season's change
Dance away the  winter cold or summer's heat and rains
I know they won't forget me as they leave I feel them wave
They'll return and bide me dance even when its on my grave

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