Soft as a gentle kiss, a touch on the skin of a memory In the wind,
A soft breeze, a West wind blowing through the trees, across the sea.
Travels through the years, not a face does It wear as It whispers,
It can only be seen with eyes that dream, soft as It speaks.
It changes tides, moves past and around what In nature exists,
Night and day It will go from here and there, place to place.
It Is the Zephy, has been since the time of man,
Energy without form, created by god In heaven, when and how long ago.
For It no beginning, no ending as It howls through time, not seen but why,
Powerful as It Is with no body or soul, why does It know just where to go.?