Whispers trace the willow’s song,
Soft as dusk where dreams belong.
Carried far on silver air,
Words unspoken linger there.
A name caught in a wandering breeze,
Drifts through fields and brushes trees.
Echoes lost from long ago,
Wrapped in sighs the wild winds know.
They speak of love, of joy, of pain,
Of summer suns and autumn rain.
Old regrets and hopes brand new—
All borne aloft, away from view.
No envelope, no ink or seal,
Just breath and time, a soul to feel.
Some messages are never read,
But still they travel, never dead.
So if you feel a sudden chill,
Or silence humming sweet and still—
That’s not the cold, nor just the air,
But voices riding winds that care.
Much Love and light,
Brenda Marie
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