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!’