The wind

 

The wind she is a playful child

Around the city she wanders wild

Bowling paper cups along

And rustling leaves to her own song

 

Beneath loose tiles she likes to peek

And through an open window sneak

Down the chimney and through a bin

Or in the corner in a spin

 

She’ll travel miles across the land

Toying with anything at hand

Twisting twirling with such zest

Then in the calm she’ll lie and rest