The wind with its cold does bite,
The wind, with its own icy spite,
The wind, a fearful sight not seen,
The wind, its might we face tonight.
It howls, it growls, it flies without wings,
It whips my face with hands unseen
It drains the grass of its warm green,
And it will never recede.
Always there, but nowhere.
Can be felt, can't be held.
Tears down houses, rips up trees,
Yet sometimes, a nice cool breeze.
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