THE WIND
The whistling wind sweeps over the lull. It's never for a moment still. It rushes and roars and scampers by. Chasing the clouds across the sky. But where does it come from, and where docs it go ? Ah! That is a thing I never shall know. Original—Margaret Mahy. (Three points for this ell'ort Margaret. P.T.W.)
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/BPB19451116.2.28.3
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Bay of Plenty Beacon, Volume 9, Issue 24, 16 November 1945, Page 6
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57THE WIND Bay of Plenty Beacon, Volume 9, Issue 24, 16 November 1945, Page 6
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