The flow of air, 
a stem of grass,
your inner sense of power.
The earthly lore,
we drift away.
Human longs. 
so stale with air,
that burden all our pain.
There is a blame,
tis you, tis I,
root cause and needless meaning.

Listen to the nature,
as kill the earth,
underlying cause if found,
real effort never happens.
We are now a whisper
In the wind of never ness.