Wind

The wind is my friend; he plays with my hair,
And chases the clouds all away.
He cools me when hot; he whispers my name,
And beckons me come out to play.


And he tells me when to go back inside
He talks to me all through the night.
He keeps me awake, or sings me to sleep,
And sometimes may give me a fright.


But when he is gone, I might not be sad
If then I am already cold.
But if he comes back, I just might be glad
For summer may be getting old.


The wind is my friend; he plays with my hair,
And gently he whispers my name.
He sometimes is angry, and sometimes is calm,
But I still like him, just the same.


(March 2010)