Earth, wind, rain, and fire,

These are in my heart's desire.

They are the essence of all I am,

From my cradle to my funeral pyre.

 

My feet they tread upon the soil,

It is the reason that I toil,

Earth is the dust beneath my soul,

It is the realm of my turmoil.

 

God breathes and the wind does blow,

It fills our sails, and on we go,

We feel the power of its moving on,

And while it does, it lifts us so.

 

The rain it falls wherever it may,

To carve the earth in its patient way,

Drop by drop, the canyon forms,

The rain keeps coming, day by day.

 

In the darkness, the fire is friend,

It is the signal that we send,

To the stars our tiny blaze,

To reach another, it is our end.

 

Earth, wind, rain, and fire,

Together they make our passions' choir,

They fill our souls with human life,

From our cradle to our funeral pyre.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Author Guidance for This Story

You presume, correctly, that she is the pound's manager.

excerpt from The Screaming Boy   by loloflame