Back and forth, you keep your rhythm,
In soft and soothing tones.
You gently caress those you touch, as you pull away once more.
Cradled in the arms of Gaia
Your swagger is uneven,
Your songs are sometimes cries of fury, and sometimes an escaped breath, like a whistle.
Most days you are the serenity in the wake of a storm
But, on some, you are the storm.
-mh (c) 2016
