Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Wind with Trees by Frank Lofaro

The wind on my face
makes me wake up.
There is not a trace
of where the wind came from.
You do not see any trees in the slum,
because they are too special to be a bum.

The wind pushes the leaves back and fourth.
The whistle of the wind flowing through the trees.
The wind may have come from the north.
The wind is such a tease.
Coming and going with its own leisure.

1 comment:

James Horner said...

good "feel" to the poem