Rustle of the Wind

The rustle of the wind
whispers in the night.
It creeps under the door
and extinguishes the light.

It flutters to my bedside
and it whispers in my ear,
telling me secrets of the day
that's surely soon to appear.

Then it steals away,
a shadow in the dark,
leaving not a trace,
leaving not a mark.

The sunshine peers through the window
waking me for day.
And there's no memory
of the dream that stole away.

But soon it will return
as many dreams do,
making me feel warm,
and stirring Gladness Stew.
---Maysen