Yes, I have seen the wind move through the trees

And watched her skim in whispers o’er the lake;

I’ve seen her scatter golden autumn leaves

And chase the clouds along her restless wake.

She shows herself with dust swirls in her hair,

Or when she dances laughing in the rain;

For then she scorns at what the world may care,

And calls to me in murmurs, soft and plain.

In quiet hours when no one else can hear,

She weaves for me coquettish secret games

Of kiss and run, like some sweet paramour,

A fleeting joy no mortal heart can claim—

‘Who has seen the wind?’ The doubters often say;

I smile, of course, and then head out to play.