The Wind

		Silent night, silent day,
		the wind has nothing more to say.
		Ignoring man, he turns away
		and hunkers down as if to pray.

		Later on he tries to rise,
		to gain the comfort of the skies.
		He blows a kiss and then he sighs.
		He rages for a while then dies.

		Every night and every day,
		this crudely fashioned passion play
		is acted out then put away
		and I have nothing more to say.

		I need to hunker down and pray.

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Ominous sky

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