The Wind's Whisper

The wind whispers tender symphonies
Into the desperate stillness.
The world holds its breath, as it waits for what will unfold.
She stands alone, waiting
Waiting,
For him to come.
She watches the wind as it blows through the trees,
Giving life to the delicate ballet of the Leaves.
He doesn't come.
She breathes in the crisp cool air and tries not
To shiver in the wind's chilly embrace
He doesn't come.
She hears the wind's song as it croons sad sweet
Melodies to the frozen dying flowers.
He doesn't come.
She turns her face to the breeze and feels it,
Pushing her.
Calling her.
Her pale cheeks grow pink for the cold,
And she wonders why she is still waiting,
Always constantly waiting,
For a dream that has never been a reality.
Her shoulders straighten and she turns and follows the wind.
Leaving the past behind.
The wind continous to twirl through the grass.
He comes, eyes bright and panting.
She isn't there.
She stopped waiting.
He sinks to the cold ground and puts his head
In his large trembling hands,
And listens to the wind's sad whisper.