The Wind

The wind has no compass
It knows not where it goes
But blows clouds of all colours
And autumn leaves along the ground.

You cannot see it, only feel
Its summer warmth or suffer
Its winter's rebuke. Even trees
Obey or submit to its anger.

It wanders a lonely path, but
When it's angry nothing can
Stop its fury. Only tall sailing ships
Have harnessed its power.

The moon looks down at the wind
With a monotonous languor and
Without fear as it cast its light on
Deep rolling wind swept waves.