Wind in the trees

poem in rhyming quatrains iambic tetrameter

 

Wind in the trees

 

The winds play haunting melodies

Upon the branches of bare trees

From which they pluck the notes they seek.

 Each composition is unique.

 

The music that the wind can play

 is different in every way.

 From any score that humans write.

 Holds me entranced in sheer delight.

 

 Soft sad laments which seem to be

 expressing sorrow endlessly

 But these sad notes can segue into

 a lively beat so you want to

 

Clap your hands and tap your feet

entranced by the hypnotic beat.

The music changes constantly

 a show of virtuosity

 

That doesn’t need an audience

Although some times I seem to sense

that is playing just for me

 To which I listen gratefully

 

 It plays the tunes that suit my mood

 as if the wind well understood

 I'm sometimes happy sometimes sad

 depending on the day I’ve had.

 

 I know quite well the wind is free

 and is not playing just for me.

It does no harm if I pretend

 the wind regards me as a friend.

 

Although it has no reason to

 I think perhaps it might be true

I am content to listen to

its haunting music so I do.

 

26-Oct-08 http;// blog.myspace .com/poeticpiers

Reviews

[David Lewis Paget]

You've hit on something here that we either rarely think of, or which forms such a background to our lives that we accept it without critical thought. Perhaps it's this that makes rural populations seem closer to the earth, whereas those living in treeless suburbs are somehow spiritually diminished. Good one, Piers.