The Wind Cannot Be Denied Poem by Mark Heathcote

The wind is a petulant child.
Throw it some petals,
and it will dance in spirals
and make confetti out of flowers.
Throw in some dry leaves,
and it will take long magical walks
into the distance for hours and hours.
Give it walls, and it will rage
and weep with all its pent-up might.
The wind cannot be denied;
its direction cannot be falsely turned,
not without a war. The wind is like love;
it cannot be mastered;
it can only be sailed,
and to sail with the wind
is to know love at its deepest level.
That harmoniously,
like an infant at its core,
wants to be becalmed by you.
With love, nothing more.