The gentle wind blows through my hair
The scent of mint, the strolling clouds
The swaying trees, and flowers fair
The roaming breeze resolving doubts

And sitting here my spirits lift
The whiffs endear and all is well
A subtle smile, a whispered gift
For quite a while my senses swell

The gentle wind
Is calling me
but I can't fly

So sweetly sinned
the alder tree
I have to die

June 2020