Windy Melodies

The plague of a crescendo
Met in a field and,
Softened there; in balance
Tipped into indulgence.
What set these notes
Beneath a sovereign sky,
Save the adventures of
A claimless soul?
Ever still, floating free;
All those who garner
The charms of rhapsody
And fateless hymns.
Still ceaselessly,
They wander.
Still fondly,
They weep.

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