Outside My Small Window

I hear the wind somewhere

Outside my small window

It starts out as whistling

Before it crescendos.

I always thought the wind

Has a language all its own

That seems to resonate

With my soul when I’m alone.

It howls on lonely nights

And rages like it’s at war

Calls out to all the souls

That rush to close their door.

So on the days the wind

Has given up trying

I whistle back so it

Knows I am replying.

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