An Aeolian Ascension, mere sight is not enough;
Sharp Boreas through your fingertips to touch,
Floral Zephyrus filling your nostrils with re-birth,
Old Notus bitters your tongue with the end of summer’s mirth.
And finally poor Eurus, who whispers in your ear;
‘The reason of your being is us,
and you are why we’re here!’