Don’t listen to the Wind…

I separate the concrete blocks that you

Design so cautiously, so carelessly.

Sapping from Mother Nature; all that makes Her.

The Wind shouts out for me: I’m dissipating.

I house the ones that buzz, with bushy tail

And feathered wing, you say you love Them too.

Severing rooted home; to make your own.

The Wind she moans again: no relocating.

I cast the shadow, raise the roof so you

Don’t feel the bullet Rain, or searing Sun.

Air is what you require; much less than Fire.

The Wind is howling now: Incinerating!

I fill the lungs of little ones, as I

Have done for you, so they as well may grow.

Ev’rything seems in vain; for no refrain.

The Wind, She cries once more: I’m suffocating

Don’t listen to the Wind; and I’ll be gone.

A picture of a tree I took in the park. Upside down it looks like the veins and arteries carrying blood to and from a pair of possibly deteriorating lungs.