Letters to you

In the wild dark of night
when winter’s ice lay chill and clear
I heard the singing of the wind,
Pale ships of wispy grey
Upon a sea of leafless trees
Tattered sails passing near
Buffeting my flimsy wall
Whispering, “come fly with us..."
and calling to me once again,
"Fly with us, fly with the wind!"
Following, I left my hearth
with arms uplifted to the sky
and borne aloft, became the wind
tattered sails in the fog
fading in the winter cold