And what of the gently touch of the wind?
Your feel is more soft and cool
The fire of your eyes kindles the sun
More than hydrogen or helium
Fields of Lilac hold nothing
Of your hair, the bees stand aside in offering.
Your beauty laughs at the ephemeral
Like a child to the ancient.
Not arbitrary in manner, nor cyclical,
An unpredictable product of nature
Archetype of a mother, author of divine value
You laugh at numbers, trapped in the
Confine of reason.
The clouds form your thoughts
You command the wind with a whim,
you set my soul in motion and
back again. Denying the will-o'-the-wisp
Your light leads away from still bogs and ice
