Fly

He twirls and whips through the trees,
A gentle breeze or a cough and a sneeze.
My hair is teased as he calls my name,
“I am the wind and I’m glad you came.”

I cannot see him, but I start to speak,
“Oh wind, carry me to mountain’s peak.”
“No, dear child, your skin is too thin,
You’ll be dead by tomorrow, I promise I’ll win.”

What’s there to win, when you have nothing to lose?
I gave him my terms, but I have no right to choose.
The useless wind who laughs when I weep,
As he dries my throat, and I COUGH COUGH COUGH to sleep.

Maybe my skin is thin, but he has none at all.
How does he fly, he’s neither short nor tall.
He has no wings yet he sings,
“Sleep, child, from the mountain I’ll let you fall.”