You say you are a breath of wind; “Oh, really!” I reply.
Well, fine wind blown into my face will often make me cry.
You say you are not anything; I’m not sure what that means,
But Love, perhaps, is nothing too, and it makes many scenes.
“Breath of Wind,” if I breathe in, you’ll keep me quite alive,
And without SWEET love, Dear Friend how
we e’er survive?
You are the wind that comes to me and fills me with direction.
You are The Holy Spirit, Love, a most Divine selection.