This whirlwind picks up the most peculiar things, the thorns of the barbs, the pines off the trees

I always see it approaching everyday, it holds a dark unknown inside of it, it is shaded with uncertain affirmation

If I jump into this oddity of a force, will it hurl me to another rabbit hole, will it sweep me away from this plain

Will it set me to another realm, one where these scarecrows won’t cast the droning sorrow among the fields

One were my veins run pure with silver and water, were my eyes may be glazed with tranquility

Were the wild flowers seem to dance with the orchestration of the gales, were the hares seem to sit with peace among their furs

To a place were I walk among the forgotten vineyards of a past ghost, were I may set my feet to the slumbering soil around

Were I may dip my hands to the rivers around, and feel the mineral bliss of natures wholesome warmth