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Wind

She stood on the hill alone
She'd traveled so far from home
Though she knew not where
The wind in her hair
Whispered of things to come

Life's journey for her had been rough
Its answers had often been gruff
Yet she held on to hope
At the end of her rope
That she'd never be called on her bluff

Alone her paths she'd trod
Alone under lash and under rod
She'd wandered here and there
Until she'd been everywhere
She'd had her feet on foreign sod

Yet as she stood on this hill
Standing strong, but ever so still
She felt the sweet touch
And got a slight rush
From a hand, slipped into hers, a thrill

She was no longer alone
She felt she'd come home

Comments

Bill Cobabe said…
I'm so glad you liked it, Krista Lou! I'm experimenting with different prose/poetry styles, and I thought this one was a bit of a challenge. It's kind of limerick-y, so I didn't want it to come off like a joke, because the subject is obviously serious.

Thanks for liking it and for telling me! You made my day! :)
February 22, 2012 at 12:17 PM
lillysmum said…
This one is just lovely.
February 28, 2012 at 4:40 PM
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