Wind (Poetry)
The wind woke up from somewhere,
booked it went upstairs,
The path remained asleep,
The edge is not shocked
Neither shiver, no leaf no one
Even the small dew-drops of the limb are not even a lot,
Standing in the forest,
Lost in its height
Pine Wake up and shivered,
Went to movement,
The same name is the same unknown,
With air Sung
Up top
The wind sang,
repeated,
Which reflected on snow and flakes,
Which spills from the sky of the evening,
Who found it
Who extended the hand of the aspiration to get it?
Ahh ! That is my
Got down in the given heart,
My accepting tears,
It came unknown unknown
He is all through all these- and through me
Bring himself to himself,
Holded down in himself
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The roads are defenseless when the wind does its thing, good poetry.