This Happy Wind

This time of year, in this place, the wind does not blow
rather it takes its time, finds its pace, and goes for a stroll
It rather would not bring a storm or a gale
but would rather play in the trees or make kites sail

Shame this wind will not keep such a kind temper
In summer it will dry the lakes till the fish all but whimper
and in fall the storms, and in winter the chill it will bring
Only in spring does it take the time to sing

And with the happy wind upon my back we sing
And the world blossoms and all is well as we sing