Warm winds make the night itself seem restless. The trees toss and turn as they cannot get to sleep: They wish they had the freedom to go running through the night Like the leaves they often lose To a wanderlust That they Can only dream of. Warm winds make the night itself seem restless. A whispered invitation not to try to sleep: To let the wind caress me running naked through the night Like the gentle touch of lovers, Lovers past Or yet-to-be I often dream of. Thomas G. Digby written 0340 hr 5/29/78 typed 0505 hr 9/16/79 entered 1245 hr 4/09/92
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