It is the sound which wind makes as it moves through the trees
Nature’s expression
It whispers to me in a soft voice
It mumbles and murmurs
And it hums and sighs
The fine rustle of fresh green leaves
The crackle of stale autumn leaves
Nature’s revelation
Blow by blow the wind whispers to us an earful
Humanity remains inconscient to its call
Engrossed in petty interurban pursuit
It breeds apathy
Revived by the lull of the hinterlands
Some abandon municipality
For outlying boondocks
To escape tempest cities
And restless populations
For the halcyon wildwood
And its silentious call