Voices of a Breeze

A breeze can be a deadly thing,
It takes off and then leaves,
To steal the words off someones breath
then whistle through the trees

And those who left behind amidst
the depths of cold, still smile.
No brush of air can warm,
their pitted hearts are all too vile.

Lie still, a breeze is whispering
and just behind the sound,
an inkling of a tiny laugh.
A voice yet to be found.