The Wind’s Course
by Elizabeth Cook
With sighing breath does the wind acquiesce
In mournful cheer, to be ever steered
By Hyperion’s chariot churning up our skies
By the ivory orb governing our tides
By fiery glows breaking from below
And by the woodwind’s greedy summoning
And with sighing breath does the wind acquiesce
To wander the wend of Earth’s curved bed
Not a nook or tree to be christened home
All to be left, and all to be known
In equal joy to sound airy heartstrings–
In equal love, to be mourned at parting
Elizabeth Cook is pursuing an MA in Economics, having discovered too late why it is called the dismal science. When free of school work and job hunting, she enjoys reading (books and manga), playing squash, and eating good food. She also has trouble saying no to a night out on the town.
Elizabeth blogs at Serial Outlet.