I hear the howl
Of a lonesome wind
Winding thru the trees
Branches, limbs.

Leaving all to chance
She sweeps across the land
Blowing with her
Good fortune, losses
But nothing that holds on
That can withstand.

Her mind is elsewhere
A place she came from
Wandering
Whistling she searches
For that time long ago
When she was so young.
~ Patrice

© Patrice Clarkson – 2019