A Whispering Wind

Articles

A Whispering Wind

By Roger Dale Hadden
Sept. 29, 2004

Yonder, through the fields of winter wheat,
comes a whispering wind,
Leaves of yellow, orange, and red are blown to
where dreams end.
The trees are beginning to turn, autumn is upon
the dew laden morning air.
Flowers of the witch-hazel are getting dressed
in a magical flair.

A heady scent of jasmine fills the early October
day.
Children, in bright school dress, laugh away the
clouds of gray.
Beside a little brook there stands a man with
graying hair.
A dimpled chin, resting upon a bended knee, with
casual flair,

Alone, the bald eagle, glides to its' nest of
fledgling young,
Church bells ring out, foretelling of psalms to
be sung.
I feel this dream of yore, my future bright,
My graying hair, solace found in a natural
light.

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About the author Roger Dale Hadden: I have been writing poetry since I was nine years of age. I write from the soul which is an expression of my heart.

Email: rogerhadden@hotmail.com

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