The wind is lonely.
Every day he searches for someone to love, or to just talk to.
He searches high and low, with no progress.
He writes poems to the sky, but she is too beautiful and vain, while he is invisible and nothing,
He sings to the ground, but she is too harsh and cold.
The wind is lonely, In a way that no one understands.
But I do.
And when I die, my soul will go to be with the wind.
I will comfort the wind until neither of us is alone.
And I will help him bring warm breezes to the earth, so no one is lonely.