. . .

Once upon a mind, emerged tempestuous air,

A gust, the spiral-kind, invaded absent care!

No thought reserved for choice of wind, of potency, of force,

No thought reserved for fields through which the violent gust would course.

Akin to foreign conqueror,

The great gust gathered ground.

The unrelenting winnower,

Blew with boisterous sound.

Tornadoes of thought tire of twirling,

The dance of torment danced.

The aftermath of their whirling – 

Tragic circumstance.

When calm caresses the mind and all is made still,

The harrowing dust settles by the wayside of the will.

Until the great grand gust stirs up dust again,

Peace be with you, my comrade, my friend!

. . .

Granville D. Austin