And the wind flows through the bamboo wood, rustling the tranquil leaves.
Flowing like a savage river, yet still just a gentle summer breeze.
Passing through the wood, stopping not to rest, this gentle gust of mist puts the mighty trees to the test.
Swaying the branches to and fro, the rain now flowing in swarms, the lightning uses its fiery lance to summon the mighty thunderstorms.
The floods start arriving, miniature oceans roaring through the trees, the once small bamboo thicket now a roaring ring of jade seas.
One brave soul soon appears, and vows to put the great flood back to sleep,
To plunge into the sea and find that hope indeed runs deep.
This lionhearted soul did answer our call too; he wielded that fiery lance and did destroy that ocean blue.
A harsh war it was, but through it all did he not shine?
Against the forces of Mother Nature and the hands of Father Time?
Indeed he emerged the victor, and was remembered for many centuries,
As He-Who-Was-Not-Fooled by a gentle summer breeze.