Trees make audible wind's absent voice,
And wires disclose its feelings.
Of varied means, it has a choice,
Uses each for its revealings.

Though it used to be that nature only,
Provided tools via which to speak.
A lot to say, yet listener lonely,
It would other outlets seek.

And so it welcomed you and me,
Creative gift of humankind.
No longer now unheard to be,
As new conduits it could find.

Windows, doors and chimneys, vents,
Flags and banners, poles and masts.
Marques, canopies and flapping tents,
Serve as outlets for its blasts.

By each its voice is different heard,
Has something new to say.
A phrase, a statement or single word,
Each like an instrument will play.

These words produce a constant chatter,
Familiar sounds we all now know.
Whether fulsome voice or nuanced natter,
Through each will talkatively blow.

And having seen all fates before,
As generations come and go.
Wind speaks of long-forgotten lore,
Ancient there within its flow.

If attuned and of receptive mind,
There’s a sense wind speaks in verse.
Unformed muse by its lines refined,
As bridled wisdom they disperse.

Ancient bard giving voice to thought,
From where they in us deepest sink.
To the pool in which dissolved we're brought,
And invited there to drink.

Inspiring poets and scribes alike,
With its tales of haunted history.
When a resonant heartfelt chord may strike,
Provide a sense of realised mystery.

But when it finds a listener none,
It makes a scene and bawls frustrated.
For a while convivial niceness gone,
And all within its reach berated.

A shouting, roaring, howling vent,
At not being heard and understood.
And with profanity the air is rent,
Appeal to all against it stood.

Then other times it whispers so,
We barely hear its voice at all.
So unobtrusive does it flow,
Apologetic will it call.

Lonely sage of all earth time,
Seeking out our human amity.
Attended, it can be sublime,
But ignored, can court calamity.

This wise voice almost constant speaks,
Unnoticed though by most.
Oblivious to its troughs and peaks,
This garrulous gusty ghost.

The wind regardless of its name,
Will ever blow as sweet.
Its native need to speak, the same,
Where destined us to greet.

If not already, try be aware,
Of this ventriloquist and its speech.
And know that when the wind is there,
It may have something you to teach.