I am the wind which blows, I know no bounds, My strength is infinite, My wings  sometimes take me to the four corners of the earth, From the cold of the eastern European Steppe, To the South African buschland or veldt, Or to the Kenyan savannah, Where I find I rarely wish to blow, Or to the States, And back to the deserts of the Gobi, Namib, Kalahari and Sahara, Where rarely do I let out a breath from my lungs, When I am like a sandstorm, Then, I like to whistle at the top of my voice, And to make me even more formidable, I love being a tornado, I love the damage I cause, The rooves ripped off for instance, I love to tear down houses with my ‘bare hands’, I gloat when people disappear from beneath the rubble, Aaaahhh, all in a days work, That is my motto, And when it comes to that phrase, inclement weather, I whistle this tune, ‘Blow the wind southerly, southerly, Blow the wind softly, softly’…     6 September, 2014   There is an ellipsis at the end of the last line because the poem needs to sound as if it is not properly ended and the last two lines need to be sung softly and cynically, because the wind can cause unfinished and untold damage.