The Robber Wind

By Kristine A. Daines

I think the wind

Must be a thief.

He takes a hat,

He takes a leaf,

And whirls away

Beyond my reach.

Sometimes he softly

Tiptoes by,

Then twirls around

And flips my tie

Or blows a cinder

In my eye.

At times he roars

And beats his chest,

And that’s the time

I love him best—

When he comes

Skirling from the west.