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. Poetry Writing Poem