Thank You John. May you soar with the Angels in eternity my Friend!
For Gayle-
Sand between our toes, we see sun-fire bring dawn-light from the Gulf.
You taste salt sea breeze from life’s Mother redolent with fresh life-smell.
But you are essence as much as the four.
We hear the oak leaves whisper prophesies.
But only you hear the words of them, though I own my soul as much as you yours.
The Norther blows its purple-black sky-bruise, laced with lightning, spreading toward us.
The wheat-waves dance in time to the wind-chimes.
The Scots piper purs his second wind into his pipe-bag.
Another breath winds through a French horn, as a free breeze blows straight across Aeolian pipes, then rising wind moves limbs as well as leaves.
The hurricane blows rain straight level, mixed with paper, leaves, and food-scraps.
Then cyclones add walls and roofs, and cars.
As your breath voiced sweeps clear man’s trashing, it is not chance your name is Gale