The Wind
The wind howls in pain,
Crying, sobbing.
He calls out in vain,
To those no longer here.
Hear it in his voice
Scared, lonely.
Know 'twas not his choice
To be the last one here.
Can he hear them talking,
Whispering, soothing?
Do they tell him to keep walking,
But always return here?
Those spirits of winds past,
Family, ancestors.
With knowledge so vast,
On what is needed here.
But still the wind cries,
Pleading, healing.
As sun and moon both rise
And we arrive here.
Sing, O wind, sing,
Chant, pray.
Help us to take wing
As we aid you here.
- Jay Walker