Ok so THIS time I DID write a poem.

Critique please. it doesn't follow any real rules, save a 8 syllabul, 9 syllabul pattern. Yes The Wind is my girlfriend.

Sometimes I feel like a hand in air,
I Cannot touch or grasp or hold,
I wonder if it knows that I care
About its movement, true and bold.

As when it shifts its way to the East,
And leaves me here all on my own.
And when South it goes, I know no peace,
I miss the breezes that had blown.

But always, I know, the wind returns.
It is a joyful day indeed
For when it comes back it always burns
A greater strength inside of me.

For even the wind, a hidden thing,
Has such a beauty of its own.
It comes to me, comes to me to sing,
It comes to make its presence known.

If it hears me or if it hears not
It does not matter one small bit
Because my love of it burns red hot
To the Wind’s Glory this is writ.