Blustery

You toss your head, your hair back with a flourish;

One of the charms of a blustery day, that.

 

You said you had lost all power for a while;

I doubted it, but you did mean electrical.

 

I walked my beagle up Mount Tolmie;

It was wicked cold, wind whipping the crest.

 

I could not toss my head, or flourish;

The wind mussed me like a lover,

 

A rough lover, with powerful hands;

Fortunately, I was fully dressed.

 

When I came down, I was almost sad,

Altho, I did feel well ministrated.

 

Someday I will essay a sonnet;

How the wind stroked me breathless.

 

I will show it to you when you next flourish

Your hair.  I doubt you will blush, but,

 

You will smile in that way you have,

And I will think of you losing all power.

 

 

 

 

 

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