• Soul of the wind spread forth from mine shadow
    And guide the earth upon its rotation. The forests are
    Gone, stripped bare by the men in their thirst for invention.
    So upon your arms of swift flowing air, spread forth
    Their seed to resow these forests of warmth, for burning
    Plains are all I see. A result of a mushroom
    Cloud sea. The end may have come but I refuse
    To let it be, let’s start it again till the grounds are
    All green. Now souls of the ground, broken and
    Weary, accept all this gift to heal thine own sorrow.
    I pray you will hear me, I pray you will help,
    For this planet is lonely and I long to rest well.
    I wait and I wait along this dark path,
    Watching the end unable to stand. So earth
    I beg thee, let the winds between pass, so that I the
    Moon can continue my task.