Where the Wind Blows

Fields of flowers sway to the onslaught of the purest of pure winds The fresh scent it gathers by brushing through the grass itself The motions it creates a delicate change with every brush It combs through the endless views of long slopes The wind in fields are the purest of all it gathers life with in it Pushing the way to the edge of the forest were it dies down But I rather not say die because it still flows through On top of the forest, above the rivers, and hills of old Where the wind blows