Sonnet #128

The wild wanderlusting wind has no home,
So of course it does not know how to act
In polite company. So it must roam
Always, but adventure it’s never lacked.

But there’s a sense of sadness in the creaks
And moans that it elicits from the walls.
To those who understand it, the wind speaks
Of mountains, valleys, seas and waterfalls.

The groans come from having to be away
From the free flight it feels in the open.
When it’s in the city, just for a day,
No wonder our doors it tries to blow in.

Man has built so much to block the wind’s path,
We should be thankful we don’t feel its wrath.

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