Where the wind blows

Yesterday was windy.
Now, it is not.
Did the wind die down?
Or is it blowing elsewhere?
When Daisy left town, she said we was letting the wind fill her sails and take her with it.
“I go where the wind blows,” she said, lifting her skirts, and floating with the breeze.
Nobody saw her again for thirty years.
Until the day when the tornado hit.
Daisy’s broken and bloody corpse was found on the steps of the high school.
To this day, parents fit their children with concrete blocks and heavy chains.
And feed them until they are fat.

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