Outside My Small Window
By Amber Jones
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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