Winnow The Wind.
Soft as the cobwebs that dance the vine.
Sweet as the droplets that dew the rose.
Warm as the first taste of fruity red wine
Is love which once relished sturdily grows.
Harsh as raw winds in the willow\'s branch.
Cold as the mountain stream\'s winter flow.
Dry as the drought that wilts any romance
Is life when empty of love\'s felt under-tow.
So winnow the wind divide chaff from grain.
Refine frozen gold then grasp love\'s flame.