Wind to the west,
From the east blows cold,
Bringing tales of lost ships,
And sailors of old.
Wind to the east,
From the west blows warm,
Carrying the promise of summer,
And friendships reborn.
From the north and the south,
Opposing forces collide,
Threatening snow in September,
And gales in July.
But here in the centre,
Is where I like best,
Where the air is familiar,
And my heart is at rest.
For here in the centre,
Is where I call home,
Many miles from the places,
Where the winds do roam.
‘A breeze will always blow in the direction it wishes to go,’
Anthony T. Hincks
