The Old Wind

An old wind blows
through the hills,
bending trees
with its icy chill.

The elder folk,
those who know,
hear the wind,
and prepare for snow.

The ancient wind,
from mountains, high,
comes again
to claim its prize.

The elder ones,
the end of days,
bemoan the wind,
and its wicked ways.

The passing months
melt the snow,
left behind,
by Winter’s blow.

Once mere babes,
the children grew,
each strong and hale,
to face Winter anew.


©️ CG Tenpenny, 2018.

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