Complains about the wind
The sharp wind sways the wet flame
In his cold rain like a storm tears, which numbs
The frozen buds before their intumescence.
With desperate gusts, the wind sighs deeply,
Sweeping the perennial cool-mellow grass,
In sunless wane, increasingly provoking
The drama of the garden and his disguised agony,
Always coming from the top of the hill,
Untangling his lips of his mouth,
That kind of mouth like an invisible cave,
Stretching nonsense words like a prayer to nothing,
Dancing his force with the willow trees,
Furiously riding the bursting clouds,
Singing his tempest very louder songs,
Trying to utter his selfishness,
His dreams and his future chances.
poem by Marieta Maglas
Added by Poetry Lover
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