The Haunt of the Bending Wind

The haunt of the bending wind

Wanders that little path

Of echoes left behind

In living’s aftermath

The hush of the snow-bent pine

Frames childhood’s carefree kiss

We trampled; un-bereft of Time

And its fleet-fingered bliss

The still of midnight’s deep

Bends softly to my thought

Little good it does to weep

For days which now are not

The haunt of the bending wind

Roams life's season-swept wild

Tuning soft whispers in my mind

Of when I was a child

© Janet Martin

Yesterday we spent the afternoon watching a slide-show of photos from my mother and her parent's childhood/youth days, as my mother reminisced! It was keen reminder of the change rendered by time and how some things never change.