The wind whispered softly along
As if not to bother the sleeping child in its cradle,
The angry trees about to lose their beauty,
And the neighborhood paperboy on his bicycle with his scarf wrapped tightly around his face.

The wind caressed the crystal flakes that fell from the heavens
As if to console the father whose son was sacrificed in distant war,
The daughter who was destined to walk the aisle without a father,
And the excited mother-to-be whose child was stillborn after months of tender love and care.

The wind calmly strolled down 8th Street
Where the early workers stood in line for a bagel and brew,
Where children gathered near the corner filled with vigor and youth,
Where tall giants of steel and stone shone with haughty pride and modern couth.

The wind whispered softly along
The curves and wrinkles of my face
As my life forever changed,
But it was just another day
To the wind.