It’s westerly the spring wind blows
His fervor breaks the idle clouds
And muses stir– the moment grows.
Should gentle breeze draw greater crowds
The wind fills mountains with a song.
The muse has come, the poet said.
Bid gentle breeze move words along;
The wind took up his pen instead.
postscript
Indriso--Iambic tetrameter. NaPo day one.