The Anarchic Wind

I am a plaything

In the arms

Of the whispering wind.

She has charms.

Her summer breeze teases

Bringing delight.

But those who fight

The wind

When she is wild

Will find themselves a helpless child

Locked tight in arms

That have lost all their charms

And will pray

For the ungovernable wind

To stay her anarchic play

And the summer breeze

To gently tease once more.

But put no store

In that wild fickle thing,

The eternal wind.