Insert witty/clever introduction here. Or just read this poem, a paen to
the joys of imagination and being assaulted by an irritatingly persistent
breeze. All hail the glories of Romanticism!
-E
**Song of the Wind**
I felt the breeze bestir my hair-
A whisper, in the quiet morn-
It told of hills afar, and seas
From whence its airy stream was born.
A siren-song it seemed to be
A lure to far-off lands untold
Where spice perfumes the heady air
And spirits splash in baths of gold.
Where one can taste the wind at night
Flying fast o'er desert sands,
Where alabaster minarets
Stand sentinel o'er sun-bronzed lands.
Or yet perhaps another place
Where heather, gorse, and bracken grow,
And wailing fog-wraiths course the moor
From rugged hill to valley low.
Where underneath the cold grey sky
A crumbling hulk of silent stone,
Enmeshed in weaves of sighing rain,
Remembers misty years alone.
The breeze, it shifted soft again,
And sang its tune from golden wood
Fast sinking into twilit dark
As fading wind-dreams ever should.
Soft breath tossed up the auburn leaves
That dankly lay on musty loam
And underneath a sighing oak
Lay weasel-halls and badger home.
My thoughts burned yet for other lands,
My mind bound up in coaxing wind,
But then thought I of what I have-
And traced my weary way home again.