Wind and chimes
keep the treasures
and the times
sweeps across the prairie sands
rhythmly rhymes
and then it stands
working away bits of dust
until at last it builds
then busts the hill
into partials of dusk
to cover the sun,
when darkness comes
the wind slowly dies
slowly fades
shifting
sands
slowly
slide
upon the ground
until
is found a resting place
far away you hear
the chimes ring
clearly now 'tis Gods Grace.