I Wave to the Wind

I Wave to the Wind
I wave to the wind, 

She brushing through the hand, 

Gone March’s willowing green. 

I wave to the breeze, 

She whispering by the ears, 

Gone July’s cicada tunes. 

I wave to the wind; 

She zipping away, 

A full street of skirts sway! 

I wave to the wind,

 Hails grazing the face, 

Gone another phase.

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