The wind is blowing
like it has something to say
it grabs my attention
as the trees start to sway.
Their branches bend
as if they were under attack
before a brief lull
and they straighten right back.
The leaves on the ground
are gathered into a ball
until a violent gust
blows them over a wall.
Men are left to chase
their hats down the road
while women make their way home
with brows tightly furrowed.
The first drops of rain
are felt on my hand,
outstretched trying to catch the wind
as it hurries through the land.
am also a beginner poet, my goal and vision is to reach the level you are at, your poems are always informative and sends the mind to a trip like never before
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Thank you for the kind words.
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Reblogged this on Superlative Deviation and commented:
Beautiful poetry from a blog I enjoy following.
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Thank You.
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I love this poem, and the picture of the old house with the blowing trees. The house seems to say come see me as I have things to show you. Thanks
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Thank you.
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