The Wind That Blows

The Wind That Blows

The wind that blows, so sharp, so thin,

It snakes beneath my weary skin.

A ghostly whisper, fierce and wild,

That steals the breath, the warmth, the mild.

It howls through trees with hollow cries,

A ruthless force in darkened skies.

It gnaws the bones, it bites the air,

A frigid touch without a care.

No sun can tame its bitter hold,

No fire thaws its fingers cold.

It runs unchained, it bends, it breaks,

It rattles doors, it stirs the lakes.

Yet in its wrath, a voice so clear,

A song of power, sharp and sheer.

The wind that blows, that chills, that calls,

A force that rises—never falls.