I speak to you to the great, great wind,
the voice of the outraged sky.
I will not revile thee, O Great Wind,
for thou art stronger than I.
Forgive me, please, I beg the sky,
and then I ask, I wonder why?
Why do you shriek, and cry and hurl
hailstone tears of a frozen girl?
Thunder peals like hell's bells.
Lightning crashes, sulfur smells.
How to appease the angry face,
and once again to walk in grace?
Why are you angry? I'm taken aback.
Shall I grieve and dress in black?
Where is the grave by which to cry?
Have I a request before I die?
The wicked wind continues to whirl,
I sail through the air like a flying squirrel.
I fear I may be henceforth lame.
Begone to the place from whence you came!
I cut and run, a quickened pace,
May save me from a dire fate.
Yonder in the wild blue sky
Is where I saw the Great Wind die.
By Helene Louise
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