The Wandering Breeze

The breeze flows soft through fields of gold, A story ancient, yet untold. It brushes past the trees, the grass, Whispering secrets as it passes. It wanders far from sea to land, A quiet touch, a gentle hand. It carries with it scents of spring, And all the joy that life can bring. The breeze is free, it knows no chains, It roams through sunshine, storms, and rains. And though it’s gone, its touch remains, A fleeting memory that sustains.