Summer ice is wearing thin,
and the weeds cause strain.
Winnowing airs chaff the pain,
and peal the sin.
Then after the rain,
the Three Winds come rolling in.
They come rolling in,
and they susurrate your name.
And so, much to your chagrin,
the leaves sink in vain.
Thunder purges them to grain
before they put in.
And after the rain,
the Three Winds come rolling in.
They come rolling in,
and they susurrate your name.
Prithee, douse the flame,
and seal our thoughts akin.
The Three Winds roll in,
like haze from street drains.
Then after the rain,
the Three Winds come rolling in.
They come rolling in,
and they whisper me your name.
