Did you ever hear the wind
Whisper as it whirled?
Have you heard it echo
Voices of the past?
The wrinkling rustle of the leaves
Is really Mama hushing baby to sleep.
The creak of the shed door, back and forth
Is just the repetition of teacher and pupil
In the old schoolhouse across the way.
The clang as air wraps around the silo’s ladder
Is really the farmer, calling his herd.
The breeze that rushes around the sill and through the screen,
That’s Grandmother, out the backdoor, emptying the wash basin.
The wind. She speaks.