Mystic Wind

Mystic Wind

In slumber, the wind carried my dream
Dashing down steep mountainsides,
Chasing o’er misty seas,
Sweeping swift past golden plains,
Searching long through loches and lees.
The breeze beckoned beyond the emerald isle
Wise wind bid me heed in wistful style.

Dreams, alone of many splendor,
Supported not by a hint of smile
Neither warm nor tender,
Carried me to my own pristine world
Filled with delights of magical whimsy
In land I construe, gossamer, flimsy
Hopes that tonight will be the night
When wind finds the truth for my heart in plight.

The wind, in choir of a thousand voices,
Sings only the praises of love’s true choices.
“But, mystic wind, teased and fraught,
My lover’s untrue, and cares for me not.”
Yet cryptic brogue, and foreign tongues
Call to me gently, “He is the one.
Allow him his freedom to seek truth in life’s charms,
Home he’ll find dearly, with grace in your arms.”

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