whirling winds

just a poem

whirling winds, 

tormentor of my soul, 

my dreams grow, 

on this day my soul grows wester, 

oh how much marvelled the silent tree, 

when i think of the whirling winds, 

in the grave i saw gyres, 

i had awoke and flung the cannonade, 

once upon the midnight sky, 

i heard a lonely voice in the whirling winds, 

oh what could it be