Wind Chimes

The creatures who make
This music their song
Are kept secret for their own sakes;
People believe it to merely
Be the wind, but they are wrong.
They think the wind could blow
Such beauty in one high voice-
No one truly knows
Of the creatures who hide themselves
By force rather than choice. 
They are quick, their slender fairy fingers 
Acting like the wind's whispers
As they pull on the strings; 
The song is sudden and echoes linger,
The pixie people swaying as they sing. 
It takes several at a time to make the chimes
Act as their instrumental play;
Families gather together as if a celebration,
Some playing petal trumpets while others rhyme
Until dusk arrives and ends the day. 
Blessed are those who hear the song
When the wind is still and all else silent
For they are far from alone.