The subtle winds keep coming, sir,
To pass the time we've wasted here
And bring forth pressing change.
What sacredness this thought entails;
We loved what was and must move on,
Only to hate the coming forth of new
And turn our angry eyes.

This wind that blows through my hair, sir,
Though chilling, brings acceptance,
A love for the worlds that lie ahead.
From watching breath become the wind
I know the fragile, fragrant rose
Must one day spill the blood
That gave her petals life.

The calming winds keep whisp'ring, sir,
To cleanse the stage of wasted time
And bring forth another cast.
What timelessness this thought entails;
We loved the show and all the scenes,
And dread the coming of new starlings...
But I shall not turn my eyes...

For the next show might be better.