When my thoughts are restless and my tongue wrestles temple.
I am sent a scent in mint to Gale; a deep refreshing inward inhale.
And this coolness of mind in body can only be tempered like fire in autumn. Restless leaves, automating my inner bravery.

The many principled hero to be, to be, because wherever there is courage there is destiny, in me. Its future fate and I'm letting go, letting go of grips, rain, reign, thundering sorrow and pain.

Let the wind be fluted, and the water be pale, the richness of our inner visions are real. Let the earth be molded, by the other, whilst without, comprehension no longer. Aether Author, crafting father's out of featureful airs.
It's fate in the making.