Rhythms

The unseen wind has its way
with leaves and dust
pushing them this way and that
as it scampers along

And as it goes it leaves behind
a breath of warmth and warning
of the summer heat coming soon
and the empty promise of rain

And the green grass and golden
flowers touched by the moving hand
sway to and fro to the rhythms
of old cycling anew eternally

And the river murmurs its accordance
and collusion and adds rhythm
of its own as it flows to the
sea, the shining, undulating sea

aceman 2008