My daughter, we lived on the island together.
You were the wind that filled my sail and carried me swiftly across the water.
We laughed together as the sun shined and you blew gently from the South.
Sometimes you would tease me coming from the East or West to test my skill at staying with you---I always did.
But then too suddenly the sky turned dark and you blew cold from the North.
I fell into the water.
I climbed up and tried to resume our path together.
I sailed into your face and you screamed at me. "Change your direction!"
My sail raffled against the deadhead direction.
"I can't change," I cried. "you will blow me away from the island."
"You will always be my mother,' she said, raining upon my shoulders. "I must leave you."
I wonder if the South wind will ever blow again.
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