The steady wind blows, and with the air
Carries dust and time away somewhere
Slow erosion fades the heart
And recollection, reduced to art
Whitens on a chapel wall
Send a young child with a kite
Outside the school as evening falls
Help him hold the string just right
To make an answer, if wind calls
See his eyes overfill with light
Carry this vision into the night
What wind can touch is the lesser part
Of a child, or the heart
Make of the rest your art.