Have you heard the tale of the Wind Weaver and her hands?
Of the woman who sifts the very air where she stands?
She lives on the highest peak of the tallest mountain,
She is the one who makes the wind whistle and the tornadoes spin,
No one knows how long she has been practising her art,
But the wind has always lived in her mind and heart,
No one knows when the Wind Weaver was born,
She has simply always been a part of our world like sunset and dawn,
The Wind Weaver is a solitary woman, needing silence to hear the melody,
Of her winds as they whip around the world fast as can be,
She conducts them to her will and lets them sing to her soul,
So round they whirl and over they roll,
Stirring up the sea and churning the waves,
Echoing amongst the hollow woods and empty caves,
So when you think you hear a faint voice in the air,
Perhaps you hear the Wind Weaver whose music can't compare,
Hers was the first music brought to this place,
Hers were the first melodies that made our hearts race,
Hers will be the last notes heard when all lies still,
When humans have left the world after they have nothing left to kill,
The Wind Weaver will lull the land with her sweet textures and song,
And the remains of humans will not last long,
For whilst the Wind Weaver sows the gentle breeze,
She is also the one who sends the hurricanes that stomp and seize,
Our petty little structures and dwellings we call homes,
Grinding to sand the rocks, bricks, wood and bones,
The Wind Weaver has a fickle heart for us humans down below,
We can never know quite what she'll next sow,
So enjoy the breeze she lets drift through your hair,
And remember that while the Wind Weaver may seem to care,
Rustling the trees gently and bringing the summer reliefe,
Every now and then she will turn to a thief,
Robbing us off stability, our property and breath,
Bringing hardships, destruction and death,
Lasting days or seconds, no one knows how soon,
So pray that the Wind Weaver sows a peaceful tune.