The winds of the west blow
from hallowed undying lands
to lands east,over the oceans flow
into mortal realms where darkness lies
They stem from His thoughts,who dwells on his lofted throne
and transcends the realms of every age
giving life to that gentle breeze,
that has the power to assuage,ills
begotten when the girdle was built
sundering one and one from the other
even so the west wind fills,the chasm so deep
that was bourn out of the wrath,that once was
but now gently sleeps,in the west
from where the wind blows.
They breathe life into shrivelling palms
hope into tired arms,and strength when all else fails
For the winds alone remain,in union with the sea,of those
who of yore roamed in fellowship where man was found
in the deeps of the elder days,before the ships were set to sail
by the same wind,that still returns,for it has neither forgotten
not forsaken those who it left,on shores hidden from light
that does not burn,yet smoulders still in the hearts
of those who looked upon it,when the world was young.
So the west winds blow,but also return to lands where
they were birthed,carrying tidings of all things
that come to be,dark or fair,to the lords
who set it to wandering go,beyond,where no duty calls
and so does it also bring,the weary fallen,
to return home and grandly dine, in the halls
where their fathers are,in the west
from where the winds blow.