MISCHEVIOUS IMP

The willful wind whistled in the rafters.

It’s an urgent need to know what matters.

The air was still and my mood was plunging;

Then a breeze touched my face, left me smiling.

A strong updraft snatched paper from the ground;

while rolling a trash bin without a sound.

One leaf trembled within a crowded bush;

clever wind to infiltrate, an “inrush.”

Ruffling the twigs, the top, a tall tree –

The wind’s its mother, affectionate glee.

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