The mind of man remains hard to explain;
A lazy mist does not keep spirits high.
All faces turn to see the hailstones fly;
The dancing warriors conjure the Manitou of rain.
They, the-lucky-to-be-alive, complain
Until does draw a storm of turbulence nigh.
"Be not afraid," the feeble elders cry,
"It is an inner fear that causes outer pain;"
But yields, not without sacrifice, the tranquility;
The lightning, that mimics oft' a dragon's breath,
Desires to be a giver to the yard of death.
Who knows enough? Who knows where not to be?
Let fools bewail a life serene;
Let storms be few and far between.