The Wind

Be very polite to the Wind, my child

For the Wind's a fellow both wise and wild.

A tramp, he travels from town to town

With his bag of tricks like a circus clown.

The chimney pots are his pipes to play,

The sails his dancing partners gay—

He leads them out and away from shore,

Over the sea's blue, polished floor.

He never rests; he never tires;

He blows on grass blades and gilded spires,

On tasseled corn and fields of wheat,

And the skirts of the farmer's wife so neat.

If you chance to meet him, always say,

"Wind, are you feeling well to-day?"

And be sure you lift the cap from your head

Or the Wind may do it himself, instead!