What once was felt, but now must ask what for;
My life, I say, is like this ev'ry day -
On gentle breeze, my soul doth like to sway.
I hear the wind cry out and call my name
To take away my fears, both strong and lame.
He asks of me, and so I must repeat,
"Good day to you, with countenance so sweet.
And what have you for me this day so fine?
I want to help - what you don't want, make mine."
I gladly give him all of my bad deeds,
So keeping only bare essential needs.
To make my happiness exist sublime,
All I will ever need is precious time.