The wind, she dances

Sky-bound birds caught on fresh winds,
Their song carrying, echoing across green hills,
Golden suns and a whisper of cloud,
Flowers oozing with precious pollen.
And as a breeze passes by, catching her skirts,
She joins in a rush of excitement,
For the wind is her own, her very soul,
A spirit that dances eternally on.
Spiralling, spinning the day draws her further,
The howl of the wind, a song so melodious,
To its tune she dances, whipping at trees,
And scattering leaves, blossoms and branch.
Gracefully she moves over hill and steep valley,
Stirring waters and frightening ferns,
This day is hers to move as she pleases,
Alive and awake she enjoys each moment.
Grasses move from her path like loyal subjects,
As birds take a chance to ride her warm breaths,
Arms flung high she spins and she turns,
Tearing the clothes from desperate flowers.
Today she is clam, her dance of content,
As the sun warms her face giving her strength,
With the last of her power she moves billowed clouds,
Then drifts away silently to rest weary limbs.