A Song of the Wind

Such sweetness of the mobile air
in the dawning of the restless wind,
a humble journey among the royal pines,
whistling through the forest, the glen,
talking to the branches of the trees
in a melodious tongue,
kissing the dew on the leaves,
drinking the nectar of the fruited vines,
bending, shaping, talking, singing,
winding through narrow corridors,
smiling through the lips of the roses,
sliding through the portals of the trumpets,
singing songs about the history of sound,
the conversion of a  sonant into a melody,
the embellishment of a simple tone,
the coloring of a translucent body,
a wandering into the void,
a space stripped of all beauty,
longing for the rites of passion,
for it to run wild through the air,
to mount a white stallion and fly,
to touch the spine and pleasure the senses,
to smooth the edges with a creamy balm,
to wander into the light from the dark,
to find a home in the midst of a dream,
to turn that dream into a rhapsody,
to run to exotic places inside the body,
to sink into the heart and flow with the blood,
another exotic music of the same family,
another song blended into another song,
a flowing into a sea of symphonic bliss,
an incessant journey that keeps wandering,
a nomad with a home in his restless spirit,
a smooth sailing along the glassy seas,
a run with the beasts of an enchanted isle,
a dream made true in the bowels of the music,
the transformation of matter into space,
a riding into the air and the clouds
and the heavens and the splendor
from the song of the wind.

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