the name of the wind is illusive and fair,
a wisp of imagination, a scent of jasmine
hair. wild onions near filbert orchards
awaken nocturnal owls in their stately
repose, watchful eyes glowing against
the moon's cloud veiled choirs
of bored crickets in waiting for an
evening of chamber song
about the name of the wind,
so illusive and fair.
5 June 2008 by Glen Alan Woods
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