I Asked the Wind

I asked the wind to tell the river's stories.
While the river babbles in its own tongue
The wind, gossiper that it is, whispers

And, when provoked, howls
In a language I have almost come to understand.
It tells the river's stories to the grass and the trees

Which rustle in the excitement of a secret
It tells the animals that prick up their ears to listen
And then hide from me, lest they should tell me by mistake

It tells the lakes, which churn with rage
That they should be the last to know
But I am the last to know

And the world keeps its secrets
From my eager ears.
So again I ask the wind

And the wind falls suddenly, stubbornly silent
The trees and animals and lakes with it
So I go back to the river

Which has never ceased its babble
And lay down to sleep
To an incomprehensible bedtime story.