I am Breeze
a shuffler of leaves, ringleader of April\'s known bluff,
the rough dis-abler of faith in blue-noon days,
that rakish bounder who favours change.
I dance over wave-tops to make cotton wool mountains
of foaming white froth,
and who for a joke likes to scuttle moored boats while
seizing chances to make disarray.
I, Breeze
scatter clouds over dawn\'s vain attempt to unclad the sun
and call in a workmate
named Gale to better break tall wooden masts.
I fan fires in chimney stacks,
blow smoke over freshly pegged clothes and as tops\' dizzy
insides whizz in a frenzy I laugh.
I never stop thinking up schemes to disturb, for people
leave houses when I am around as shutters start
banging, windows may crack and leaning walls
begin to be scarily creaky.
I am Breeze
who whistles through windows, stirs up roosting rooks
and fetches a buddy called Storm to rock roofs.
Shovellers of seas into frenzy, we three together, Storm
Gale and me tumble to knees tough men
in rough weather suddenly caught.
Like hounds from hell our pleasure grows with blowing
down trees then whipping the hands
of those willing to clear roads and begin rebuilding.
High cliffs of uncertainty cannot resist our crafty nature
and crash with gasps of rumbling
granite when we in trio vote to ask Thunder
to join in our antics.
It is I begins the triangle of gross misbehaviour, clipping
hopes of more windless existence for those
living near coastal waters.
Make no mistake, lay down a flower or veg-bed too early
and I the ring leader will take action.
I am restlessly eager to blister or drown before leaflets
can grow and fight back.
I, Breeze,
frown heavily on forecasts of weather so beware, I will
ever succeed in clashing with sun
while making unwary Spring my gullible prisoner
now April\'s begun