The open sky is alive,
with winds and gales,
to tease the waters into a fight.
Tries and tries, but fails.
Sheets of grey ruffled
into rifts of white and blue
Yet still and calm, beneath,
as if they never knew
what the wind was up to.
He huffs and puffs, that wind,
trees swaying in dismay,
"whiss whiss whiss," they wonder,
"what shall come of this day?"
Sands of the bank in a flurry,
flitter, fwoosh and fall
beseeching the water to give way
to the wind's mighty squall.
A steady wave of refusal
arises from the deep,
washes over the shivering banks,
puts flittering fear to sleep.
And yet the wind is raging
and restless mountains dream
of vanishing to pebble and dust
in the racing swooping scream.
The world all a-tremble,
yet the wind will not concede.
Pleas for mercy in the air
and water pays no heed
Until.......
Suddenly things are quiet
wind gone, water serene
the battle seeming done
but whose is vic-toe-reee?
