We hear the wind each night and day;
But see it not, nor whence it came
It leaves so softly, suddenly.
Try you might, but can not contain.
We enjoy it in the summer;
Shake and shiver in December.
It may come as a gentle breeze
Or in some sharp and stormy ways.
The wind's a mystery, we know:
Of whence it came or where it goes.
written by Evelyn Creon
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