Angel Wind

for Gabriella, taken too soon

We miss the sound of the wind when it is absent;
The loss of gentle chimes and lilting rustling,
The bittersweet gusting and intemperate howling.
We miss the sound of the wind when we are hustling.
But we grieve when she is gone.

We miss the wind when it stops shaping the clouds;
Bending the atmosphere to its will at a whim,
Constantly changing the weather and landscape,
Imposing itself on trunk and leaf, Giving life to limb.
And we grieve when she is gone.

We miss the wind when it no longer licks our cheek;
Bearing butterfly whispers and bluebird song.
We yearn for one last chance; the joy and the burn
Of standing in its impulsive path for too long.
For we grieve when she is gone.

And in our grief we recall each breeze and zephyr;
The wind that made our life musical and sweet.
And through storm and gale, we ache and suffer
But keep the wind in our heart. Perfect. Complete.
And we remember when she is gone.

© Jeff Wilson, 2003