When I was young, very young,                

I’d hear the wind blowing.

I knew then that it sang,

So many different songs that 

I would lie awake for hours

And listen to the language

In which it spoke.

 

The wind had a special song

It sang when the leaves quivered

On the aspen trees, and the

Yellow gold leaves of the

Cottonwood trees shook.

 

The wind would play a gentle            

Tune when it blew against

My face on a hot summer day.

In October, the Fall wind 

Would send leaves rustling

Down the street and into the yards.

 

In the winter, blizzards came and 

Blew fiercely against my windowpane.             

Sometimes I could hear a growl

Around the weather-stripping 

On the front door. 

 

The saddest song I ever heard

was when the wind blew around

The headstones in the cemetery,

Leaving  behind  a song  of

Mourning for the dead.

Yu/stan/kema.