Winds of the West

Wind, wind, winds of the west,
Vague voices call from the land I love best.
Sighing and crying and hauntingly free,
Incessantly whistling and whisp'ring to me.

No matter how far or how often I roam --
O'er vast verdant fields or the dark ocean's foam,
I'll never find freedom; I'll never find rest,
While the wild wind is wantonly willing me west.

The warm winds of summer are singing to me.
The breezes blow fresh'ning and fragrant and free;
And no matter where or how far I may be,
The winds of the west will keep calling to me.

Wind, wind, wild western wind,
Haunting me, wanting me westward again.
Taunting, undaunting, wherever I roam --
Exciting, delighting, inviting me home.

Echoes of voices that sang long ago
Still willing me westward, calling me home.
Sun, sand, and sagebrush, saguaro and pine,
Cottonwood, piñon; the west is all mine.

The wild winds of winter wail warning to me:
"You must come back home!" It's a great mystery
From where canyons cut deep
and the wastelands are wide,
The winds of the west never seem to subside.

Wind, wind, wild western winds
Summon me back to the saddle again.
No matter where or how far I may be,
The winds of the west will keep calling to me.
The wind of the west wails,
"Come home! Home to me!"

Previously Featured Poems