The blue aqua wrapper frolicking
along the stony concrete.
Chiming like a chalise as it hurries along,
finding itself off the concrete
on to cooler ground.
Now it lies and molds. But wait,
with it's patience it has transfigured to blue cheese.
What marvelousness,
that it has achieved its wanted state.
As many pence that can
be numbered cannot buy. The freedom of
the rolling individual.
Should any wonder stop the righteous wonder,
then a black morass divide asunder.
Still rolling, picking up speed,
steady on the wind's course,
the guiding force.
The wind is gentle,
caresses to empower but to gain none.
Such charity the blue cheese receives;
however cannot remember the promise
the blue cheese made to the wind.
Along the course the cheese has stopped. By
his own hindrance.
By and by the blue cheese
must do his part.
So enveloped in the wind's rapture
the part of the cheese that remember's the wrapper,
sees the wind's part
in the making of him.