The wind, she sings a song so low,
A melody no one seems to know.
She dances through the ancient trees,
A whisper lost upon the breeze.

She touches rivers, wakes the sand,
A fleeting kiss, a wandering hand.
She murmurs love to waves so high,
Then fades before they say goodbye.

No place to rest, no home, no name,
She drifts, yet never stays the same.
A ghost of sound, a fleeting tone,
Forever singing—yet alone.