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.