Indriso: Work of Wind
It’s westerly the spring wind blows
His fervor breaks the idle clouds
And muses stir– the moment grows.
Should gentle breeze draw greater crowds
The wind fills mountains with a song.
The muse has come, the poet said.
Bid gentle breeze move words along;
The wind took up his pen instead.
Note: I was WRONG. This will be my seventh year of NaPoWriMo. Lucky number 7! Let’s see how I do. 🙂