Where has the wind gone?
To find new sails,
Stitching their own of parchment.

Where has the wind gone?
In every man burns warm a fire
Hearths that only need be stoked.

Setting off into the blue.
Currents warmed by sunlight,  
In the night grow cold.

Settle and you may find warmth,
From each dying ember,
Convinced the sun will never set.

I can only speak of sparks
Where once the flames burned brightest.

That when the wind did not shift,  wisened.
And set fire to the parchment.