The Wind (Poem)

The Wind

Wind, always is the day Wind, always only stays

All else seems to fade with each passing of the day

wanderlust, you might be but do you collect

these paths you tread and these miles you see

blown from your mind ah the winds they are kind

these paths you've tread leave nothing in their stead

These winds caress but they do not obey

the faces you've seen it has blown them away

but if only the wind was so easy to hate

just a depriver of thoughts, the stealer of fate

but we must take such as we have

the good with the bad, the happy and sad

These winds to, they mend whats been broken

they wear down the hills into fields unbroken

Until the you wander on past the scene

then try to remember like a half-recalled dream

It is here the wind does you no favor

it should be forgotten but becomes something to savor

the woman she stood by the shop door

the wind in her hair but her feet on the floor

she turns to leave and catches your eye

then smiles and nods and walks right on by

The wind it is still, it bothers you not

you set her face in your mind, clearly besot

the days turn to years and you've lived out your lot

but you can still see her face, the wind serves you not

this is one hill it has not worn down

for it was still that day in that small little town

this is the problem of missed opportunity

and why the wind is a thing of beauty

things that could have or would have been

are the toys of of the treacherous wind