Chatterbox: Inkwell

A poem, made up johnny on the spot! :)

The Wind that rushes through my ears

makes me squint my eyes

as I soar, like a bird who is yearning to fly

Almost touching the clear, dew misted sky

My feet raise up high

in a graceful,poised pirouette 

My head is thrown back

Hair nearly brushing the ground

As The Wind Women glides me through the air

Closing my eyes

I see her, standing here

She not wizened and old, but jolly and dear

Or is she fierce, dressed in black, with bats wings for arms

It's hard to tell, when different moods take her. 

I look up again, into the ocean of a sky

and see the branches of a sweet weeping willow

falling innocently down to earth against the pure, good sky

as I soar ever higher

On this plastic blue swing.