Wind

O...out I go to give battle,
With my flannels all on for a shield.
Desiring to ease all of this fury,
So soon these currents will yield.

Strong is the force I encounter,
As it comes at fifty or more.
I hold to my head for my senses,
As it pushes me out past the door.

There's a skirmish out in the tree-top,
In motion, the branches reach high.
As off to the gold in the sunset,
Clouds race in a feather-tipped sky.

O the combat is rough in the open,
It comes like a demon at me.
I flourish my sword in fast rhythm,
At a form that vision can't see.

O who is that wrestling the shadows,
Stop now...for I have you pinned.
So stealthily he slips through my fingers,
And I'm holding on nothing but wind.


E.P. 1908 - 1989