Poetry from The Well

Wind Envy

I’m haunted by the sight

of the trees boasting blossoms

baby pink and white

twisting against a patch of sky

crowded with clouds

racing one another nowhere.

 

On this side of the window

the air is still except for sounds

of bored coughs and sighs.

 

The sun streams in

gleaming against

the grainy blue carpet

but the wind stays outside

frenzied and free.

 

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