Collected Poems
Winds
Winds
The night we lay together
upon a moonlit hill,
the boisterous god of weather
was reverently still.
The little breeze that nightly
guards lovers' hearts till dawn
seems sometimes, most politely,
to hide a gentle yawn.
But now that love lies bleeding,
soon gloriously to die,
the winds, with perfect breeding,
most exquisitely sigh.