The gentle wind whispers in the midst of the day

Lifting flower petals, it invites them to dance

And curves into smiles as it watches them sway

 

The flowers reach high and take an elegant stance

Twirling and bending now of their own will

Dancing freely for the wind who casts an admirable glance

 

But the wind soon grows bored and commands them to still

Before whipping away in search of something new

Leaving the flowers abandoned, stolen of their skill

 

The wind travels on through the sky, clear and blue

Searching for the most interesting of things

That will keep its attention like paper to glue

 

It finds nothing after hours and the world brings

Nothing of more interest than the flowers that danced,

Leaving the wind disappointed at its self-cut strings.

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