poem poems

Calling the Wind

Oh summer winds, I wonder where you hide;
perhaps along a Caribbean tide,
or over coverings of mountain houses,
or even on the fields where no one browses.

Return and fill with sounds this silent day.
I miss the magic flowing with your play.
My watch is counting minutes while I wait,
and tick-tacking out loud to say you're late.

Come here to squeak the hinges of my door,
and sprinkle lemon flowers on my floor,
and in my room come swing my chandelier
and clash its chimes the way I love to hear.

Oh summer winds, I speak for all these trees:
return, let rest those Caribbean seas,
come whistle songs beneath this midday moon,
and sway my hammock on this afternoon.

  

Poems: A page of Rosa Clement´s site
© (1999)