The wind is ever-present.
Every season,
Every year,
It follows without fail.
I love the wind.
But does it love me?
I think not.
Despite this fact,
I love it no less.
Be it the strongest gale,
Or the slightest gust.
If it be with me,
I gently carry along,
Pushed lightly by a merry stream.
If it be against,
I cleave through the breeze,
Exhilaration running through me.
The breeze brings me forward,
Into new things never known.
The breeze blows me back,
To golden days that were my home.