Language of the wind

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H7_56DcTJcY

The wind 

will not stop sighing.

Its words are insistent and foreign,
hour after hour...

It runs through fields
and sprints through trees,
caressing the night into day.

It tries to summon or warn me...
to tell me of something
I cannot,
on my own,
perceive.

The wind will not stop sighing
as it slides across the cold waters
bending the brown grass marshes,
imploring roving tails of thrushes
of some emphatic, unrelenting news.

The wind will not stop sighing.
It will not close its appeals around me,
nor gather its clothes and leave.

Beneath the pall of such a dark fortune,
I can't explain or understand
that which lies beyond
my grasp.

Author's Note

Thanks Susan, It looks better. :)

Reviews

[Fabian G. Franklin]

Bravo! Encore! Let her sigh some more! This was just great. I thought this poem was going to blow me away. More like those sirens of Greek legend singing from some lonely island. It sighed right along and I almost had to sigh with it! Great job. F.

[Relic]

Thanks for the read an enthusiasm, Fabian. :)

[Fabian G. Franklin]

My pleasure, entirely. F.

[John the Baptist]

Not bad at all for one shot. We must wonder if the wind is to be taken literally or whether it symbolizes something else. The speaker seems to be in the grip of some ongoing apprehension, a feeling that the wind is the harbinger of evil. We do not find out, must conclude the speaker might benefit from a stiff drink.

[Relic]

ha The wind here has been relentless lately. Every day and night. I might as well write about it. Thanks for reading, John. :)