The wind you see,
the wind you speak,
the wind you mold.

Three names of the wind
tell it loud to be,
when the sunset’s bold.

Across the crimson tide,
in the ancient time,
there lay a qbit gold.

It spoke of stories,
of tomorrow & yesterday,
beyond the mysteries untold.

It served no side,
a cosmic mind,
even in fire, it burnt so cold.

When asked to find,
gears unbind,
made hidden paths unfold.

Across the crimson tide,
in the ancient time,
there lay a qbit gold.

It heard it all,
to heaven’s end,
all the names the wind hold.