It is a hurricane...

Softly sways the zephyr closely from the vicinity of my lips. Art they not dry nor art they wringing. Is my cheek also arid for hath my eyes transmuted to deserts of chaos. Thus, is the chaos the entity I find, I pick it up with blithering obedience - nothing do my lips move for otherwise.

'Tis some westerly wind blowing from the north, ah! such presage is it already.

Falls it softly on my skin, but alas! has it mauled the vellum so thick until now as crept it inside this abode of mine to reach for my body. I see, now "we're wearing thin".

Such cumbrous a babel does my mind house; may I tell thou that 'tis oracular for me to comprehend.

"Allow it in" says one, "let no deafness blur the sound - 'tis a siren" says another. What they speak of, do I not know. Alack! 'twill be a loss again. Am I so tired now.

What they evince, can I not decipher. Lackaday! Am I so still. Hear I the sound - such gardyloo yonder. Will there come another wave?

Am I no stranger to it now.

Beyond the meadows is the dry dirt hurled up into this thin air and becomes it thick like a quilt bearing all embroidery and no cotton. Tell me, hath thou slept with that shawl? Has that covered my entire body so oft, would it leave no part of my skin naked.

Over the trees ligneous of that wood vale would we haunt, does the wind gather strength. Do thou see? Behold, oh my brother behold for is it uprooting them all - will it all be just a mass of ruin before thee turn. Look! May you fancy a glimpse for the last.

Hah! Too bellicose, too angry, too vengeful! How, did I lose the landscape in lapse of no shake more than a blink - is it all a ruin.

"Blew it mercilessly so afar could we not reach" will we get to say someday, disguising and only disguising the verity when the kith and kin was rendered derelict on the plate.

Tell me the muchness of my blood, do thou behold the casualties?

Lie they hither and thither hopelessly for has a greenwood been coloured red. 

Tell me, do thou see them? That's why told I, in case were thou blind.

Is the aftermath no scenery I can admire. But oh! how I wish I could.

Can you?

Conjures up the blizzard the more now, yet pervades a stillness from such distance do I not intend to measure; a long haul does it seem to be, and I told you earlier in time - am I tired now. Can I not move to even fall in line, but grows more massively the storm closely in my ambience now. 

Is it not a zephyr anymore, thou see! 'tis a blizzard bears that the snow is that cold as a glacier forsaken. Is it too cold and inclement. I do not desire to touch it. Do you?

Blows it from the east as well, yet comes it also rambling from over the canopy of the tress remaining. Art their fortitude shunning the swish had that merely originated as a breeze that weary a traveller might love; transcends it the green lines, and whoosh! did it strike a sycamore from the edge. Belongs to the ruin our tree house now.

Astonishment is it for me that past is the hurricane, yet stayed we the same.

Incredible is it for me that unfastened it the bolts of all ties, yet stand thou quiet in moulded kaolin, having nothing to say.

Here me say my brother, had I seen it all coming.