The Wind Upon My Face


I lived for the wind upon my face.
Rain and sun cleansed me;
But, the wind was my fate.
No storm pushed me from its path.
I stood steadfast and strong.
In time, the work I lived to do,
Nourished the soil and did no wrong.
My toil was the measure of my worth,
And all rejoiced in song.
I turned to the wind and gave my life,
My reward a productive earth.
But, then I aged and skipped a beat,
My body bent and worn.
I’ll not die an untimely death,
brought down by grueling pace,
My value from me torn.
I’ll stand erect, locked in my stance,
And weather every storm.
I shall simply live for the wind upon my face.

4 thoughts on “The Wind Upon My Face

    1. Thank you Teagan 🙂 When I saw that well worn wind driven pump in Napa it was an ah ha moment. It spoke to me at the time I took the picture and when I wrote the poem. It still motivates me.


  1. This is wonderful…mostof my poems deal with survival in their own right…from loss, depression…tragedy, It is there between the lines and right on them This poem is very realistic to the fight to go forward detering all obsticales 🙂


    1. Thank you very much, Heather! I sensed the survivor in you and adore your poetry and the message. I felt this poem as soon as I took the picture of the old windmill. It has always reminded me that I can be a bit worn and frazzled and still hold my head up.


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