Oak stood upon a hilly ridge.
Wind whirled and whistled
And all bowed before his will.
He swept Oak's sorrow from her gaze
And blew her burdens away.

She gazed in awe at the glorious
Swaying, worshipping grass
Which hummed and fluted
Praise to Wind's wonderful power.

Wind whispered and wondered
At Oak's thoughtful stand.
"What are you thinking?" Asked he.
Slowly responded she.

"I watch motion's mysteries,
I ponder the path of the breeze.
What wisdom does Wind contain?
From whence he came,
No one has been informed.
To where he goes,
No one knows.
Can you tell me please,
Who your Maker be?"

"He is the Master of the sea,
The Word, the Life, the Light be He.
He directs my path,
All knowledge He hath.
I know not where I go,
Except that where He says, there I blow."

-Anne B. Caitlin