The wind was but a fleeting rustle,
Tampering with her straightened dress,
She stood in peace atop a hillock
And let go of all she had repressed,
I watched as the breeze found her face,
So soft and pale, so calm and fair,
It lovingly turned her cheeks to ash,
The rest went piece by piece in air,
Like the residual cackling
Of a yet burned log
In a fireplace glowing
To ward the fog,
Her mind found freedom
While I witnessed loss,
Where she found completion,
My eyes did gloss,
I wept like a child in mourning
O'er some sweet dreams and wake,
Yet the idea seemed so alluring
That I wished the wind me take.
So as I walked up the hillside,
And saw her dress on the ground,
I wished for that same feeling,
To be ever one with the shroud,
I took myself to calling,
Quietly in hopes to hear,
A response in turn to me,
So that I may this world clear.
I stood alone for so long,
I had forgotten why I remained,
But a smile found me before too long,
And on the wind, with her, I remain.