Wind

Carry, carry, carry,
Over field and lake and sound
Through thick forest and open ground
From great tunnels to tiny mounds.

Sprint the meadow ripple the lake
Petite petals opening in wake
Auriferous leaves in grass you rake
Breath of hollows you swiftly take.

Sway the trees now shaded gilt
Caress the stalks that always tilt
Lift the flowers lest they wilt
Stir the pond of silver silt.

Gently swoop pass Billy Brown
Pull his kite from earthly bounds
High above all mortal crowns
Forever never will it be down.

Carry, carry, carry,
Carry these words of thine
Trickle her ears with whisper wine
Let her know 'I am Hers, she is Mine'.

Warren Chan 05/05/07

You know, I am not the type of person who sits down and suddenly thinks of writing a poem. I'm the type who writes a poem every once in a while when there is some sudden inspiration to it. And this doesn't necessarily mean an emotion, it can sometimes be events or objects. Take this poem for example, it is not inspired by love or anything close to it despite the fact that the last few lines clearly show that emotion. This poem was actually inspired when I was looking out my computer window at the wind blowing the durian tree. Thus, it is for this reason that my poems come out at irregular intervals, sometimes I produce maybe a poem every two weeks, or sometimes I produce one in three months. (Lately though i have produced quite a lot..must be the fact that hot afternoons make me daydream more :P) Cheers all =)