Wind

Capricious wind meanders through the trees

Its push can ruffle, sway, or tear at leaves

With such persistent inconsistent flows

And unseen mischief laughing as it blows

...

Most immature of all the elements

A constant swirl of raw developments

From whispered secrets sweet to raging roars

Impermanence that mountains must abhor

...

Potential such that few can comprehend

But breeze to maelstrom still must one day end

Its absence leaves us suffocating peace

Though worries strong like storms can thus decease

...

While its return breathes anew within

And chaos shadows every gust again

Confess, I favor fickle gales run free

For silent wind will be the death of me