The Garrulous Wind With Whom I Am Friends Poem by Ted Sheridan

The wind is blowing
at a clippers pace,
forcing the trees to bend in half,

and a bald man's comb over
to raise what looks to be
a flag of his intent to surrender,

either that or he's trying to fly,
and escape,
before any one can see

his obvious secret.
I love windy days, the tempestuous gales,
when the locked doors blow shut,

behind you,
and no one else is left inside,
to let you in

and you are forced to enjoy them.
I just love windy days,
with big white fluffy clouds

and the promise of sunshine
behind every one of them.
I love the sound of the wind too,

it comforts me to know
that I am surrounded by something
so motivated,

and yet so inconspicuous
to the eye,
that's my kind of conversationalist

with whom I like to shoot the breeze,
someone who just
blows me away,

with every word they say,
Windy days are friends of mine,
and I can't say that about very many people.