The Wind That Blows Cold

The wind that blows cold, over all the land,
Takes with it all the sod and the sand;
Leaves nothing but the barren ground,
With nothing around, not even a sound;

Except that of the sweeping gale,
That shoots through valley, and through dale;
To have upon its open home,
The right, and freedom, with which to roam;

God given rights to man, exceed the need,
Of this howling torrent to be freed;
So it takes upon itself the job,
Of cleaning away all the cluttering mob;

Of those who lie, and work and sit,
And cannot seem their minds to quit,
Of the notion, and feeling, they were
The first to be here;

The wind to be heard,
To be seen and felt, but not to be feared.