Wind!
The Willow in the wind. RJ Photography
By Bob Gaydos
I once penned a psalm about waves on the pond.
Strove for an ode to a breezy day.
But reach as I may I’ve got naught good to say
about forty-mile-an-hour winds all (censored) day.
No birds to behold. No blooms to unfold.
Eliot’s Prufrock without his trousers rolled.
Of course, the dogs are fine.
Things to sniff, things to leave behind.
In fact, let’s just call it a day.
Forty-four’s the number.
Degrees and breeze.
All day. All the ding-dong-doodle day.
