Tell me woeful wind where are you coming from?
Whose hair have you already mussed?
Are you bringing me the cheap perfume of a hastily sprayed teenager or perhaps the poised, pulse-douse of a well-aged dame ?
But you are not the same.
There is something different about you today.
I fear you carry tears.
I feel the light spray of sadness whet my own.
You are not an ill wind but rather a ropey one.
Tying us together with all our untrapped chaos
Must you bring me this news ?
I hear the echoe of a sob so very raw
Not even the crows’ caw
Can drown it.
The shushing of you through the leaves
Is the calm before the storm
Warn. Warn. Warn.
The knock at my door this morning.