Wind, you glide through skies so blue,
Whispering secrets, old and new.
Gentle touch upon my skin,
Soft and cool, where to begin?
Through the trees, you weave and play,
Chasing clouds along the way.
In the fields, you dance with ease,
Bringing whispers from the seas.
Morning breeze or evening sigh,
Wind, you drift and gently fly.
Nature's voice, so clear and kind,
Wind, your song is peace I find.
About the Creator
Amit Kohli
As a storyteller, I weaves captivating tales that transport listeners into vibrant worlds, blending imagination and emotion into every narrative..
Keep reading
More stories from Amit Kohli and writers in Poets and other communities.
A Failed Artist, A Disillusioned Poet, An Underpaid Game Show Host
I took my son and niece to Gori, a small town in Georgia where Joseph Stalin was born. They talked me into visiting the Stalin's Museum, the largest in the post-Soviet space. I had resisted going there because I just can't stand the monster and know enough about him, or so I thought.
By Lana V Lynx7 days ago in FYI
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.