The air is the great communicator, She converges and diverges, And multiplies afar. The light is all in all, Yet do I live and move, And so, my world is made.
Indeed around me spin, Demented clouds, In such diversity me thine eyes do find.
Some sift the rain, Others hunt the dew, Across the ledges do the sea-winds cry, Wanderers of summer skies, In breaths that speak to me Of beauty boundless, and of earth.
- George Edward Woodberry