Author Sara Teasdale A tall tree talking with the wind Leans as he leaned to me ā But oh the wind waits where she will, The wind is free. I am a woman, I am weak, And custom leads me as one blind, Only my songs go where they will Free as the wind. Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 Average: 1 (1 vote) Rate Log in or register to post comments