What of moments spent, do you not speak of friend.
What of thoughts shared only with thee,
when your heart barely beats, and your breath but a dream,
when all is nothing and you merely be.

What of eyes of no age, yet timelessly glazed,
the world but a murmur, a rumour unveiled,
your warm smile gave to me, I return one to thee,
of pale horizons, we silently sail.  

And what of the winds that travel this world unending,
that may anger both sky and sea,
we shall face them together as we always have,
and prevail, for I have faith in thee.

For old they are, these whispering winds unending,
for how should they begin again, had they falter and stall.
Fear not of the winds, for today’s were always,
and anger of those who do not feel, or recall.