A poem about loss by David Tombale: Born of Whirlwinds

In memory of a friend.
Born of Whirlwinds

 I found that the wind still speaks
Of him whirling through the corridors
Flipping through pages of a photo
Album, little laughing child in diapers
You grew into a rumbling, raging teen
And then into a man. I found that
The wind still speaks of him, that
The spaces mention him with humour,
That crazy kid, loving and leaving
But always leaving, finding joy in
Casual promises but no one blamed him,
Scion born of whirlwinds and blinding
Storms and rarely but every so often a
Warm summer breeze. I find I miss
You now and then when a quiet moment
Catches me unawares, but I hope that
You're resting easily in the bosom of
The earth knowing still that we speak
Fondly of you on the anniversary of
Your birth.