Poetry 6: The Wind Cries

The Wind Cries
          Or The Last Holocaust

The wind cries, howling, among the rocks and dunes
Blowing dust, dust, dust.
Fiercely alone it mounts, gathering moisture from the sea
Until it can hold no more
And release the rain it must;

And the wind cries, moaning, over what is left,
Weeping rain, rain, rain.
Floods careen down valleys, forced by wind to roaring speed
Dragging rock along 'til
Its widening bed reaches the plain.

There gently enough it drops rock and dust
And meanders, helpless, as it must,
To water nothing:
No flower, no bee, no grass, no grain,
No sweet lovers on greensward lain,

No more the warm, no more the just
No more the love, no more the lust,
No drive, no greed, no loss, no gain;
Just dust and rock and the tears of wind,
The fall of rain, the rush of flood,

While the wind sobs its pain,
For it blows alone. As at first, so again.