A Person Called Wind

Who really knows the wind,
As it races through the trees,
Pushing leaves in its way
With naught but only ease,
As it flies across open plains,
Only a trail of swaying grass remains,
Who does really know
The speed of the wind.

Who really knows the wind,
As it teases a little girl,
Lifting her hair over her shoulders
Making her skip and twirl,
As it tickles her bare skin,
Making her giggle and grin,
Who does really know
The playfulness of the wind.

Who really knows the wind,
As it blows across the seas,
Making waves crash and destroy,
And uprooting sturdy trees,
As it lifts even heavy cars,
People's homes and lives it mars,
Who does really know
The anger and power of the wind.

Who really knows the wind,
As it bellows howling cries,
Warning the land of a devastating storm,
With a mournful low sigh,
As it flies away from all the pain,
Not wanting to see the earth's bane,
Who does really know
The lament of the wind.

Who really knows the wind,
As it paints the blue sky,
Shaping and moving clouds,
Each one unique as it goes by,
As it brushes the wind chime,
Creating different songs each time,
Who does really know
The art and melody of the wind.

Who really knows the wind,
As it carries in the air
The pollen from a flower,
And makes the earth fair,
As it helps the birds soar,
To another distant shore,
Who does really know
The duty of the wind.

There is not much known,
Except what this has shown,
That it is a mystery,
Abtruse and invisible,
Secret and incomprehensible,
Yes, who truly does know
This person called wind...