There is a strange noise
I heard it long ago.
It blew messages as I strolled
where gentle streams flow.
These waters sent notes
written on dry crisp leaves
To the clouds to scatter messages
from angels silver sleeves.
The messages were whistles in the wind
I shall never forget that tale
from the slightest, smallest breeze
to a force nine gale.
The messages were gentle from the angels
They bought smiles and laughter that day.
Those whistles in the softest of breeze
are with me now and that is where they'll stay.