Complains About The Wind Poem by Marieta Maglas

The sharp wind sways the wet flame
in his cold rain like the storm tears that numb
the frozen buds before they bloom.
With desperate gusts, the wind sighs deeply,
sweeping the perennial cool-mellow grass,
in sunless wane, increasingly provoking
the drama of the garden. His disguised agony
always comes from the top of the hill, while
untangling his lips his mouth,
That kind of mouth is like an invisible cave,
stretching nonsense words like a prayer to nothing,
dancing his face with the willow trees,
furiously riding the bursting clouds,
singing his tempest very louder songs,
trying to utter his selfishness,
his dreams and his future chances.

Poem by Marieta Maglas