In the quiet hush of dawn’s embrace,
The wind begins its gentle race,
Carrying whispers from afar,
Guided by the morning star.

Through the fields of golden grain,
It dances softly, free from pain,
Touching leaves with tender grace,
In a never-ending chase.

Upon the mountains high and steep,
The wind its solemn vigil keeps,
Singing songs of ancient lore,
Echoing on forevermore.

Into the night, beneath the moon,
The wind becomes a haunting tune,
A melody of dreams untold,
In its embrace, the world unfolds.