The Wind passes swiftly o'er the meadows
Caressing, kissing,
Embracing, then leaving.
It finds a young, precious flower of the field
And cools it with its gentle touch.
Then, as quickly as it is come
It is gone.
Flitting mindlessly to a new target,
Leaving the flower to wilt in the heat.
It moves from place to place,
Never stopping long enough to be seen
But just enough to be felt forever.
Such is your love.
It is beautiful, ravishing the heart;
Bringing all emotion to the surface
Only to fly away, leaving the soul dead.
You may never be truly caught;
Always free, always alive, Always happy,
Never mine.
Yet this one consolation I have:
I have seen the wind.
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