Speak...Please Poem by Jeff Rushton

The wind through the sun dried leaves on the eve of summer’s last humid plea
The whistle from a child's puckered lips, puffed checks, not a note extending
That strong breeze at mountain and hill peak, the feeling of lift to eternity
The soft summers eve breeze, relaxing relief after a day of laborious deeds
A brisk winter whip as you leave the over-heated cabin's, wood-burning grip
None of these would be possible without the air you breath, a constant remainder
Your wonderful voice and it's refreshing breeze of relief.