With you I will fly

Dearest Wind,

In the quiet tumult of the world's breath,

where the air itself seems to murmur

secrets older than the mountains,

I find myself penning this ode to you.

You are the whispering specter

that roams through the caverns of existence,

a phantom touch against the silent canvas

of the universe.

You stir the leaves like an ancient memory,

each rustle a sigh from a realm unseen,

where time weaves itself into the folds of eternity.

In your currents, I detect the ghostly echoes

of forgotten epochs, a soft lament

that flutters through the corridors

of the living and the departed alike.

How you traverse the barren expanse

and the lush, encroaching forests,

gathering the scattered voices

of those who once wandered before.

You are the echo of their longing,

a gentle caress that speaks

in the language of elusive dreams,

each gust a chapter in a tale

that remains perpetually unfinished.

Your passage over the earth is a spectral dance,

a balletic waltz in the twilight of existence,

where shadows and light intertwine in ephemeral embrace.

You move with a grace both haunting and inscrutable,

sailing through the ancient oaks

as though you seek to unravel

the mysteries bound within their gnarled