With silent composure and the temperament of a saintly child,
It hustled noiselessly, as if stillborn,
Through the branches,
Gently caressing Mother Nature's limbs.
Angered by the sun's defiant, yet silent reign,
Where all were dependent,
The breeze raised itself up into a larger state,
Like an insecure dog raises the hairs on his neck.
Swooping and singing a glorious war cry,
He stops only to hesitantly check for a
sign of interest in the sun's eyes,
Yet the sun looks on silently in amusement,
It is not that he feels a superior being in
comparison to the inconstant wind.
He, unlike others,
Whereas the wind has a wavering lifespan from a few minutes,
To a few days,
And whose timeline of age is constantly reset,
From a young and childlike breeze,
Where the winds of change signal instability,
To a brewing storm easily conquered by the appearance of our valinat hero,
There will always be those that are content in themselves,
And know that they are a success,
And those like the wind that need constant power-ups
To feed their dependent wouls with others' support.