The breeze moves over my face.
I wonder where it goes,
to what magical place?
The wind moves soft and light.
It whistles in the morning and calls in the night.
It makes me wonder what its trying to say.
Whats its secret? Whats it way?
Then I stop and hear it move,
I love that sound, so soft, so smooth.
It rolls through my hair,
its tumbles so soft and fair.
Then it stops, all is silent, all is slow.
And it makes me wonder,
Where did it go?
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Poemsland.org
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