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Rated: E · Poetry · Fantasy · #116519
The wind is a woman with a woman's ways.
The wind from the west comes whispering wild,
Wild round the willows, a laughing child,
A child of the mist who laughs at the day,
Laughs at our sorrow and then spins away.

She's wild, this wind. She's wanton. She's bad.
She whispers of sin and joy to be had.
She wriggles and flirts and tosses her mane.
She scampers away to savor our pain.

She ruffles my hair. She touches my cheek.
She whispers to me, so soft and so meek.
She's gentle and kind to those who have sinned.
The wind, the wind, the whispering wind.

Wind from the darkness and wind from the light,
Wind from the day and wind from the night.
She calls to me and I hear my own name.
I hear it spoken in that sweet voice of flame.

The sound of the wind is a clear, clean voice
That remembers times when we had no choice,
No choice in the future or even the past.
We only could hope our courage would last.

The wind from the darkness blows to the light,
Lifting and laughing til the birth of the night.
She's gentle, soft and loves all who've sinned.
The wind, the wind, the whispering wind.
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