It blows every day through the fields,
on some a light, others a ruthful battle,
it contains power of unknowing love but hate,
it sings a beautiful song that gently cools your face,
on other times when the sun is up then down,
it brakes through any in oneself's path,
it dances lovely, though a twirl recks the lifes of many now lonely without shelter in which to hide, it sways the leaves of trees and can not be held at a stop,
it has no contain.