Breeze

I wake
and I walk
to my window.
The morning breeze
whispers at me:
"hello."
I kiss the sky
and then say
"goodbye."
And I drift into
the morning.
I stare
at the rushing world
around me.
No time to stop
and think:
"thank you."
I think of that breeze--
we should have to say:
"please,"
to be given a gift
so unselfish.