They Call me the Breeze
I move the mist in moments.
Before the morn when all is quiet
I hide in the cool dawn
Then spread my wings and fly away
When sunshine paints the morn.
I whistle on the waters
And whisper through the trees
You can feel me cool on your cheek
They all call me the breeze.
I drift between the wattle buds
And tantalise the tips
Then weave magic in the tea trees
And breathe sonatas through my lips.
I talk to you in gushing tones
Then speak softly in your ear
I move the mist in moments
When suddenly I appear.
I am the breeze in the trees
A real breath of fresh air
I’m invisible but vibrant
Demure and debonair.
When I gush there’s a rush
A roar, known as a gale
And then around the midnight hour
My strength begins to pale.
I talk to you in dulcet tones
And rustle through the trees
I’ll be your true companion
You can call me the breeze.
©
David Rudder
2024
Thank you for reading this piece and my poetry.
