Breeze
Oh but the breeze
has a language
You’ve felt it’s squeeze
Against your cheeks
On a windy dusty day
You can hear what it seeks
As it comes to you
From another land
In a day or two
You can feel it’s light dance
Against the swaying green trees
Or just upon a chance
Feel it’s silent twinkle
As it whispers against
an old man’s wrinkles
That’s when you know why
The old man on the park bench
Embraces the breeze and sighs.
Even in a world so cold
A world always in a rush
Breeze is a friend to the old.
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