The wind is blowing.
The leaves are singing.
The rain is dry, and my eyes now lie.
Pain of moving the hand but leaving the world full of sand.
The ocean has never called my name, but I love to hear it sing.
Lovers are not what we are called.
Thunder runs through us all.
The sound of hope whispers in my ear, yet I feel hopeless when you are not here.
I am thinking of the storms that have come and gone.
The way it held the ground, and the roots never lost the edge.
The things that seem fair are often seldom sweet.
This is deal between you and me.