From whisp’ring breeze, to roaring gusts, it lives.
From gentle puffs, to breathy whiffs, aloud,
The wind is always miffed. It blows through sieves,
Releasing anger, soaring through the cloud.
A curtain sets, encomp’sing all to dark.
And soon the orb morphs to silver moonlight.
The sky is glum, sounds only heard by spark,
The spark that sparks the night to rage and might.
A brewing storm appears. Destroys the world,
Into minute pieces until there’s none.
New starts, new lives, emerge out’ve ruins. The pearl.
Save us, save me! The savior. Who, the sun?
Although it may seem moody and dire,
My friend, the sky elates; and I admire.