Finding the Southward Wind

{{#ifeq: | | {{#ifeq: Justin S. (Whiteflame) | |

   {{#ifeq: Whiteflame | || 
     Author: Whiteflame  
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   {{#ifeq: Whiteflame | |
     Author: Justin S. (Whiteflame) |
     Author: Justin S. (Whiteflame)  
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 {{#ifeq: Justin S. (Whiteflame) | |
   {{#ifeq: Whiteflame | | Authors: ' | 
     Authors: Whiteflame 
   }} | 
   {{#ifeq: Whiteflame | |
     Authors: Justin S. (Whiteflame) |
     Author: Justin S. (Whiteflame) 
   }}
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}} {{#if:| — see also [[:Category:{{{category}}}|other works by this author]]}}

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<poem> Her wandering gaze always falls Upon some troubled gate, One which the passing Autumn breeze, Rustling leaves, And quivering branches of trees Gives some means of anticipation, Some excitement, some anxiety. Her brown, soft eyes, Pan the grasses and the skies, Looking for some heart to keep, But never in the chilly wind's Soft touch that sends shivers along the tangled hairs, And capricious forelock, Does she find a heart to keep, For she knows not her own And desires deep. Yet never doth these occurrences remain And prevent the mare from finding a home, For that unhinged gate is always swaying, Always open for her to travel. And now, as she gently nuzzles my open palm, Looking for some hidden apple In my pockets, I can see the fire in her eyes that gaze so Listlessly out into the open, Pretending to be lost, Reminding me of you. </poem>

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