A gental wind that seldom blows
a storm that comes but never shows
across the prairies and over the land
shifting grass and soft white sand

A soft spoken word from across the sea
pericing onward to you and me
maybe a voice from the past
coming throu time at last

Seaking a mate to hear what must be said
against the night of crisum red
toward the mountains agross the valley
making it's way it must rally

finding a perfect home for that is clear
free of hope and that of fear
flying straight and very true
a friend sends a whisper to you.

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