When love weeps,
the wind stops to listen.
But the world wanders on
and turns the lives of air.
 
When the wind cries
it hides in the leaves, in summer.
In winter
it whips the bare branches for being so slender
and giving it no place
to die
in silence.
Its whistle wakes the sea
And the waves mourn for it
Keening over the ships.
The sea men remain in its wake.
They carry the ache of the sea home.
Women reap the sorrow of the sea;
Their love weeps.

by Karen Mitura