THE SOUL OF THE ZEPHYR



A zephyr called my soul,
It’s sound enticed my mind.
It wafted ‘cross the snow-capped waves
Beseeching me to follow.

Powerless, yet vainly proud,
Grabbing wisps of fleeting clouds,
My heart controlled my mind,
Compelled I had to follow.

The zephyr spread for me a carpet
Made of fluffy, puffy clouds.
Invited me to share its journey,
To visit ports of foreign call.

The carpet felt like magic,
There was no limit to the sky,
No speed we could not reach
No space we could not enter.

We gazed on cities, countries, seas,
The zephyr bared its soul to me.
It told of canyons deep and gorges wide,
Of how it whispered low at dawn
And moaned with hungry yearning,
It screamed as if a barren banshee
Across the golden plains of wheat.
It told of catching sails at sea
And kissing those whose hair blew free.

The zephyr called my soul,
It shared and bared its soul with me.


Pamela Pauley-Perreault

    ©1996

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