The Wind Blows

by S.W. 5 months ago in nature poetry

I sat at my desk with the window open, the wind blowing and I began to write. In late winter on a warmer day.

The Wind Blows

Below the snow and between the frost.

Lay dead leaves decaying; lost.

To feed the soil, so it may bear fruit.

For these mortal coil to follow suit.

Among the deceased are worm & mushroom.

In the spring of Robin’s & flower blooms.

The gentle exchange from season to season.

Truest beauty in the things betwixt.

Between a birth & death true life awaits.

So again we see an old rusty gate.

Outside a home we used to play.

Fetching words we want to say.

We begin to value a life.

One we live with bountiful strife.

From a child atop the stairs.

With parents yelling, cursing & swears.

To each their own livelihood.

No one lives a life quite like you would.

So I trust to you the gift all your own.

The power to shape a life, a love, & kindred soul.

nature poetry
S.W.
S.W.
Read next: Poem: New Life
S.W.

A poet by way of life. Words just came easy to me, though I may never write a bestseller. I just want you to feel understood. At the end of my work if we’re closer than when you started reading I’ve done my part.

See all posts by S.W.