The wind knows my name
My secret is out there
My sin can be seen shimmering
In every rain drop
Grain grows, touched by my passing
My sin lives on,
do I corrupt those close by?
Does their conduct change?
Are stories written about
That particular rainfall
Sudden changes have been reported
Miles away
Small villages have trouble with their young
The only thing they have in common
Is my name, heard on the wind?
Arthur made me do it…
© Anita Dawes 2021
Leave a Reply