One evening, in a trance, the wind wailed,
With pain in her voice whereever she sailed,
Worried asked the hills what caused her plight,
And, she could not name the enemy in sight.
She wailed, she cried,
To blame him - she tried,
In the end, she blamed herself for
What fate had brought upon her.
The hills worried still, asked her to calm down,
Looked at her with a worried look, started to frown,
The wind did no justice to save herself and him,
She cried and hid what she'd locked within.
On tears and sorrow, the hill that day,
Flooded and withered and grew grey,
Begging her to utter what she did not say,
And, the story of the wind and the hill,
Full of unrequitted love and sorrow still,
Ended in mourns this way.
