A blade of grass must bend, to the ceaseless wind
A tree must bow, forever against the wind's endless plow.
The flowers will twirl, with the flow of this wind's whirl.
The pollen above will dance, the wind goading it's furious prance.
For the wind is powerful and unending, always present and attending.
It will steal the breath of life, cut through it with such strife.
It will control and cut, it's Voice needing no other, but.
It is gentle and kind, a breezing a gift to unwind.
It is friend and comfort, family and support.
And perhaps it is the person you'll never reach, the one who renders you incapable of speech,
Maybe it's the one who never leaves, the pair of you thick as thieves.
From the start, the wind is feral, and it is peril,
But in the end, it is peace, and it will soon cease.
ns 15.158.61.20da2
