In forests of my western land,
If you listen, the hush you'll hear
That alpine fortressess' command
With walls of pine and spruce that jeer
Approach of day and breach by light
Beneath bow canopies of night
With undergrowths, encroached by man,
That challenge "Breach me if you can"
Not men or light could hope impeach,
The quiet dominion of the trees,
But where their influence fails to reach
There's long been trespass by the breeze.
In forest hearts the wind resounds
And brings, to hard won silence, sounds
Of voices echoing sad and shrill
That whisper of a worldly will.
"Hear my whisper, hear my word,
The tale that rustling leaves would tell -
If you not like it, know this well:
It's important it be heard."
In deserts of an eastern land,
The still expanses can deceive,
For hellfire's hiding in the sand,
Denying visitors reprieve,
From miles of mirrored dunes that burn
As flames, unmoving, and will turn
Life to death, spell for breath defeat,
To freeze all motion in its heat.
Where men and motion will not go,
One vandal dares defy the dunes,
Make creeks of frozen fire to flow
Skyward, and dance to aerial tunes.
The whispers that the forest heard,
In deserts shout their sombre word,
Force those parched kings to shed their tears,
For echoes of things the world fears.
"Mem'ries scattered to the breeze
Are lessons other eras learned,
Forever destined to be spurned
And forgot with too great ease."
On mounts where gods and titans played,
Their rule has ceased, their games are done -
But heights with crowns of snow don't fade
For eternity, or the sun.
There gods have stepped, and slipped, and fell -
And what sane soul would dare to dwell
Where divinity once did strive,
But only mountains still survive?
The peaks a foolish time forgets,
Are subjects still beneath the sky
Whom aeons would not teach regrets,
But wind makes moan, and howl, and cry.
These prideful heavens, pompous kings
They too will all be taught the things
Everybody already knows,
And remembers when the wind blows.
"Do you wonder why I blow?
What I do may be of my will,
But I know well what role I fill -
Do you really want to know?"
Then spy the drunk man's irony,
The brew that swallows those who sup
A life of water; it's the sea
That drinks all earthly drunkards up.
While those that lie upon the shore
Will have their fill, then drink no more,
Timeless oceans will drink the land
To quench their endless thirst's demand
But also here, the wind, it speaks
So even drunken Neptune hears
The tune, that taught to scream, the peaks,
And now makes seas shed misty tears
Which greedy gales will gladly drink
Since shores, to them, are but the brink
Of brew their airy thirsts won't dry,
That drinks of earth, but's drunk by sky
"Always favored, mirth and pride,
Follies that make the world lose touch,
To value worthless things too much,
Let what really matters slide."
The final stronghold then, of men,
Those earthly kings by far most free -
Free most of all to learn not when
To pay, in tears, the price of glee.
Those walls and roofs they build of pride
To live warm fantasies inside,
Will muffle out the sullen songs
That ready foolish souls for wrongs.
But in proud strongholds woe will come,
And where all other kings of earth
Were taught by wind to face it numb,
Unready men die with their mirth.
Just men are free to close their ears
And eyes to what the whole world fears
And wind forewarns - they live a lie,
And when truth catches up, they die.
"Men rarely listen for my tunes,
Those tales the rustling leaves would tell,
In moaning mountains, dancing dunes,
The lessons that make the seas swell.
Of such deaf men there�?�¢??s naught to see -
Unwarned of failing Harmony
They pray in vain to silent gods
And write sad odes to dying dogs -
Odes that the wind's already writ
And told the world in sullen rhyme.
If man will hear the breeze then it
Will tell his woe before its time.
And when its time has come to pass,
No dying dog nor lying lass
Can harm the heart of man that's heard
The ancient, sad, consoling word."
Though the teaching tune is sad,
Don't grieve what everybody knows;
Forgive its trespass and be glad:
Don't hate the way the wind blows.
