Blowing in the Wind

On windy days when the sun is highly lit
When the leaves rustle and the grainy fields sway
And when smoky chimney tops sputter away
I can see the white linens blowing in the wind.

They sit there on their line between the house and tree
And when the wind blows free the sound of the breeze
Runs sleekly over their fabric and softly touch.

Of all things I see I notice them most
As sails almost at sea blowing ships
One cannot see and I feel a blinded fate at once,
Like a sailor on his maiden voyage set out upon the horizon.

What may come is unclear and may not be near
But their loving innocence can hardly shed a tear.

And when the wind uncurls them hard
I know they'll soon be taken off as dry.

And I know the innocence will leave,
And I sigh.

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