Wind (3 October '25)

Outside the wind scours its deep tracks and currents,
On landscape devours all flotsam and sundry,
Upon walls of red and grey the tirade relents,
In ancient rooms cocooned huddle humbly,

Aching fingers tensed run through locks of green,
Tearing the fabric to which tree and tower hemmed,
Testing the roots with furious rage, till e’en
Standing the force demands too much to spend,

Morning, passion spent, the sun rises steadily,
In heavenly stage, numb to the rues of the land,
Over scourged concrete, dawn chorus breaks giddily,
And cleaned, the earth, anew and sterile, may stand.