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The wind beats hard out there. And does it know

that doing so makes quite a cozy den?

Does he or she who blows the billows so

know that their anger brings back peace again?

Not everywhere, though. Peace, indeed, to me

who has these blinders ousting the unrest.

That angry wind, to all not so lucky,

is death at worst, and violence at best.

So how then do I feel so peacefully

against that which will wake both death and pain?

While I, inside, drink cozy revelry,

outside are those who mix their tears with rain.

But wind does much indeed to take and hide

those luckless souls who might be brought inside.