The winds that travel our fair world now brush past and around me. The stories they must have seen, the words they must have carried away...
When I close my eyes, I can hear the laughter of children on this wind, the whispered promises of lovers, the gentle wing beat of the butterfly, and the sweet, sweet song of the roses. I hear things that no one else will hear, that no one else will understand.
Ease my lonliness with the stories you carry, and though you are colder than I, I will yet remain, for our quiet hearts are kindred. |
