Once the Wind fell in love with a poet.
The poet was a charmer with the sweetest songs,
Earnest and true he sang them to her;
as she sat in the meadow
“silver-cloud heart of mine
The World fails time and time again
To be a match, a complement
To your infinite grace;
My words die time and time again
My words feed me feed my soul
yet I can do no justice to you”
He loved her mad for ten summers and ten winters
She would rage and tease.
She would tempt and hide.
The meadows would ring with her laughter
Sometimes it mocked.
Sometimes it blushed.
In the beginning he was a humble servant,
She proud and mighty, there but not there.
The poet persisted. She stormed and raged.
He still stayed.
He surprised her. He intrigued her.
She who had roamed the lands far and wide,
stories bled, hearts crushed, cities grew in her wake.
She who had seen it all was still yet a woman wanting to be loved.
Loved she was by him, with all of his being.
Inch by inch she let him in.
The woman in her thought she could limit it.
She would be cautious, she determined.
Gods and Goddesses in their arrogance
always forgot the power of human
what they considered baser instincts.
She forgot how love rooted, how love fleeted
How love broke time and time again.
So when he broke at last,
tired of his words failing him
tired of the spirit that had consumed him
He walked away
to a warm fire to a warm girl to a family.
She screamed and begged.
He still walked, resolved to settle safe and known.
Enraged heart-broken furious she cursed him
to live ten lifetimes to be left and alone.
Ten sons. Ten daughters.
Lived melancholic to loves that never lasted,
To lives that never filled and finished.
Till she fell in love with a saint
and the World all over again.