Only the Wind Goes On

By Chris Commodore©2004

I walked in as the wind in haste,
Dragged along the firmament;
Like fishermen reining in empty tired nets,
She stops not to talk with me.
Interested only in her conversation with those
Like her, who’s older that the globe;
Trampling, pushing, sometimes manhandling
Everyone and everything;
She quarrels with the meadows and the trees;
Yet for some moments, gently nudging along
The cold hot summer air,
Appeasing all who dare complain.
On and on advancing, rumbling and whistling
Her eerie song of love.
And I noticing, try to use my time as she does hers.
Yet too slow to measure up, I stop
Right at that fateful page that grants no one
Access to her next show.
The wind goes on, but I must end the race.
It all ends here until He turns the page.