The Wind Bucket

A small boy dressed in grey

walks into the wind with a yellow bucket.

He is unsteady on his feet as he is

only a few months having learned the posture.

The wind torrents with prestorm fervour 

and the boy swings his arms and yells

as his bucket collects up the air.

With repeated shouts the boy looks into

the sky and causes me to wonder 

whether he is chastising the wind or joining it

in its revelry, urging it to roar on.

But then the bucket hangs still beside

the little legs of the boy as the air

goes quiet, perhaps answering his yells 

by whispering that it will not be commanded

to blow by this young master

nor will it be contained by his

yellow wind bucket.