The Wind Whispers, The Wind Sighs

– after Longfellow

The wind whispers, the wind sighs,
the dawn light brightens, a magpie cries;
amongst the gum trees tall and green
a girl becomes a faerie queen.
And the wind whispers, the wind sighs.

Morning settles beneath silk skies,
her reign flits by like dragonflies;
deep shadows dress the naked hill
in dusk, as faerie wings fall still.
And the wind whispers, the wind sighs.

Night throws a cloak; a barn owl cries,
another answers, stars blink like eyes.
The queen is gone, won’t come again;
these woods forever will remain.
And the wind whispers, the wind sighs.

– Ryan Stone

first published at Poetry Nook, May 2020

Little Things

In the few spare minutes
between kids’ basketball games
I find myself
in the produce aisle
floating on a rainbow
of yellow, red, orange, green.
Vibrant and bursting
with perfection, promising
the flavors of earth and sky
and stream.

I pause—
unexpectedly
overwhelmed,
grateful to live in a time
where fifteen stolen minutes
allows me to gather apples and grapes,
squash, broccolini, avocado and rhubarb.
Grown by strangers, harvested
by other hands—a bounty
for my family to share.

Ryan Stone

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