In the still of morning you hear his approach
by the rustling of the leaves.
Like magic you feel him touch your skin
with the kiss of a gentle breeze.
He’s painfully shy, for though you look
you never see his face.
He’s a rover, a rambler, a gypsy spirit
ever moving place to place.
But in rare moments, growing quite bold,
he grabs you and starts to spin.
You lose yourself to youthful glee
and go dancing with the wind.
You dip, you whirl, spin round and round,
you get so dizzy you fall to the ground.
Still he’s teasing, twirling here and there.
Tugging your shirt and tasseling your hair.
I hope dear friend that once in your life
you will feel the joy within.
That comes from simply letting go
and dancing with the wind.