The South Wind Blows

The South Wind is having a field day,
leaves run a frantic race trying to outrun his fury,
chattering in chorus as they flee

Who knows what he’s stirred up today
beneath a sky of towering clouds
painted a menacing shade of deep slate blue

Yet even the rain dares not show its face
as he blows fiercely into his teacup, 
drumming his chest in thund’rous bellows

He brings with him the autumn
tied to the tails of his kite, 	
chasing  a warmth through the air
  
But he bends great willows like saplings
just to show that  he can,
and gives the world a good shake

It’s his last hurrah 
before bedding down for winter.


september 2007
Janet Reid