The Wind

Flowing soundlessly, yet noisily
Lifting houses and cars, tirelessly
Mountains, the most stable of us all
At the wind’s mercy, they crumble; fall

Whistles through the barren wastelands,
Whistles through the timeless sands
Through the green lush forest, bustling
Through the feathers of the red hawk, crying

It is there, and yet we cannot see
What plays with earth, and sand, and sea
Explorers perish at it’s cruel hand,
lying forgotten in snow and sand.