Upon the wind tonight;
The mournful tune of branches,
In the icy void of light.
I thought I heard you whisper,
As I awakened from a dream;
But it was just the winter wind,
Sneaking past my window screen.
And yet, I felt your hand,
Brush the hair from across my face;
But when my eyes were opened,
There was no one to embrace.
So I listened to the wind,
And pretended you were there;
Letting winter's icy breeze,
Run it's fingers through my hair.
The Poetry of Nana Lynn
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