Whifle, Wimple, Tadpoles

Blow you mighty gusting wind.

Blow and cease. Blow and cease.

Make me wonder who created you

In geometric form.

Cutting forth to whifle this,

Whifle that, and are no more.

Rippling at waters edge

You cast your breasts upon the shore

A simple wimple foraging

Here to there for who knows what.

Ride the crest to lands downstream

To come to rest in fields afar.

You were just a tiny speck when

First you came. Little dot that grew a tail,

Began to slither ‘cross the pond.

Nosy tadpole swimming, skimming,

Growing to a mighty leaper,

Leaping high into the wind.

Landing on some distant shore.

A whifle now. A wimple then.