Wind

I smile with the arrival of the wind - The fleeting child who whispers And runs with his arms outstretched To touch all things tangible and true, (Oh, the tireless curiousity of the young) He who will tug at the clothes of the people, Sprint away with their hats in his delicate palms, Leaving branches of trees swaying to and fro As he bounds from one to another, Laughing and whistling and racing Beckoning them to play in his everlasting game He returns to toss my hair, dance circles around my feet, And it is then that he raises his lips, To whisper his best-kept secret in my ear: “The most beautiful things in life are the unseen.”