I am Breeze
a shuffler of leaves, a ringleader of April's known bluff
and disabler of human faith in blue noondays.
I dance over wave-tops to make cotton wool mountains
of foaming white froth,
who for a joke likes to scuttle moored boats while I seize
the day to create sea-disarray.
I, Breeze
scatter clouds over dawn's vain attempt to unclad full sun
and call in a workmate
named Gale to better break tall wooden masts.
I fan fires in chimney stacks,
blow smoke over freshly pegged clothes and as their holed
insides whizz in frenzy I laugh.
I am able to empty houses of people when shutters start
banging and leaning walls creak.
I am Breeze
who whistles through windows, stirs up roosting rooks
and fetches a buddy called Storm to rock roofs.
Shovellers of seas into frenzy, we three together, Storm
Gale and me bring sailors and kin to their knees.
Like hounds from hell our pleasure ends with bringing
down trees then whipping the hands
of those willing to clear up before wreck-rebuilding.
Giant cliffs of uncertainty cannot resist our crafty nature
and tumble with gasps of falling
granite when we in trio vote to scream thunder.
It is I begins the triangle of gross misbehaviour, clipping
hopes of more peaceful existence for folk
living in coastal backwaters.
Make no mistake, lay down a flower or veg. bed too early
and I the ring leader will become active.
I am restlessly eager to blister or drown before the ground
can heal and fight back.
I, Breeze,
frown heavily on reliablity so beware I shall ever attempt
and succeed to have fun while
making unwary Spring my gullible prisoner.
