When the wind whistles through dear Wellington
there’s a place to be, where the wind is God.
it turns wind to song, when birds don’t feel strong,
and planes fly with daring, nose to the wind.
Wind lights rainbows of engineering
the stronger it blows, brighter the colours glow.
The forests that strain, under windswept weight,
are symbolised here in blocks of colour.
My heart takes off on every gust that strikes,
feet struggle to stay firm, compass seeking.
Towering above me, it soars, looming,
sharply defined, pointed, bright and warning.
Colours work to defeat the pounding wind,
daring me to rise above melancholy.
This time of year toys with my mind, but here
on this walkway, Wellington glows and sings.
© Sarah Lee, 10 May, 2013
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