Tossed about, going hither to there
Going here, somewhere, nowhere
As the wind flies about ever so high
I am reminded of the paradox of the sky

As the wind rushes high
So too must it go low and nigh
Alone at times, and then it gathers
High up in a building, up in the rafters

As the wind runs colder than the coldest ice
So too it flies warmer than serpents think nice
Dancing, weaving, ever concealing
Sometimes it stays still, breath stealing

As the wind flies about into the night
I know in my heart everything is all right
For whenever I feel lonely and gray
I know the wind reminds me it won't remain that way

Penned by my hand on the 13th of Scarlatan, in the year 703 AF.