voices in the wind

`

Rough is the wind that flattens
a tree from its anchored moor,
a destiny not too quick to ruin
presents a whispered word to me:

on we traverse without respite
that weary road we take,

what imprint is left behind
that sweeps relentlessly against these walls--
a spectre of bygone landscapes
whose blustering gusts are raptured calls

`