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I espied the wisps,
whisper with their lips,
quivering their golden hips,
orbiting blooming tulips,
to provoke me, with their quips.
Taking out an old crock,
stalking behind a rock,
I trailed those glowing beetles,
whiffing the fragrance of myrtles,
skipped across the backyard,
to catch the fireflies, flitting haphazard,
Humming and buzzing, I could hear,
with luminous insects tickling my ear.
Losing my faith, I turned back home
followed by an unknown kith, adventuresome;
He sat on my finger, glimmering with radiance
wish he did linger, while I stood
hypnotised, under nature’s brilliance.
There are so many long forgotten words.
Words of radiance,
Words of love,
Words of hope.
The wind whispers them softly,
Stirring up the fallen leaves
And the fallen petals.
Sometimes the wind screams,
Wanting these words to be heard to all,
But through all the howling and moaning,
The world barely rolls in its bed.
The words are forgotten,
Aside from wind.
Forgotten, these words hold no meaning.

The wind calls again,
Begging,
Singing out the soft melody of
Radiance,
Love,
Hope.
The call was answered only by silence.
Longingly,
The wind cries again,
Hitting each pitch with perfect clarity,
Singing, but the silence again prevails.
The world is deaf to the wind's voice telling of
Radiance,
Love,
Hope.

The wind breathes light to the
Darkness the world lives in.
The darkness the leaves and roses live in.
The dark swallows up what is left
Of the perfection of the
Words long forgotten.
Keckcorn Definition: the windpipe

— The End —