The Curious Breeze

There is a gentle breeze
wafting through my window,
softly caressing the sheer,
pale as snow curtains

It whispers softly, urgently
to the pile of brightly hued
many-colored cushions, on the
bare, dark, wooden floor

Fluttering over the bedsheets
it ruffles their pristine calm,
and mischievously rustles the pages
of the books lying all askew

It hovers briefly, over the
little plant hiding in a dark corner,
and wonders, not very deeply,
at its quiet, listless air

Inquisitive, curious, like a child
it flits about my room
touching, feeling,
exploring every cranny

Until, all at once, its gaze lands
upon the green clad vista,
out beyond, and it goes racing,
to flirt with the trees again.


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