Nothing’s as lovely as a tree,
But what’s lovelier is the wind in the tree
Flitting through the dark bronzed leaves
As it prances o’er dancing branches.

In and out it curls
Picks up road dust then swirls onto the next tree
Then billows, in the willows.

And for a fleeting moment floats in an oak
Rushes through a maple
Where with a hush
It becomes stable-slowing 
To a stilled and lulling silence.