Caressing Winds

• Melanie Edwards, Grade 4
• Poetry
• 2009

The wind that gently prowls the whistling grasses,
The breeze that sculpts the luscious clouds,
When time seems still, not a sound can be heard except for the wind that softly whispers through the emerald guarding trees.
Playfully tossing her hair, the wind can not be stirred by man,
The breeze that carries the seeds to the corners of every earth,
That spreads the fires for new life,
And the soft wind that caresses her pure face.
The soul of the earth, it sweeps desolate plains,
A fire that kindles in every breath,
It is the wind that turns away no heart.