The Robber Wind

By Kristine A. Daines

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    I think the wind

    Must be a thief.

    He takes a hat,

    He takes a leaf,

    And whirls away

    Beyond my reach.

    Sometimes he softly

    Tiptoes by,

    Then twirls around

    And flips my tie

    Or blows a cinder

    In my eye.

    At times he roars

    And beats his chest,

    And that’s the time

    I love him best—

    When he comes

    Skirling from the west.