Blowing

One face cannot weather every storm

In a short game of generational moves
To a permanent state of higher elation
I wander not because I am ever lost
But because the world hides it message
That no flower may withhold its beauty
Not if the tempest comes without rain
Only air washes away solidifying time
On windy bluster, desiccating ecstasy
It is after all, sport played over decades
And I played it well for the most part
Not you, or nature, or others can do harm
Becoming unloved; takes longer than a lifetime.