Viola stood on the hilltop,
dwarfed amidst the cedars and pines;
yet rising up straight and strong,
delicately carved in cream and grey stone.
Her lips are set in a gentle smile
and her misty eyes radiate goodness,
and they come from across the hills and seas
to lay eyes on a masterful sculpture.
The Strong Wind came often,
whirling around her for hours;
come away with me, he insisted,
and i will make you better.
So persistent was he that Viola agreed,
even to break the base she stood on
and walk away with him;
alas, separated from her base she fell,
face down into the mountain slopes,
while the Wind receded back to its home.
The Forces pushed her downhill
until she rolled onto the seashore;
there she pulled herself up
and stood up on the legs carved into her.
The Water came and played at her feet,
teasing and licking her toes when it pleased,
but never when she called, as she often did,
because the Water did make her feel good.
But the Water was careless,
it gently seeped into her as it played,
cooling and making her smile;
so she didn’t feel her insides weaken.
And then the Strong Wind came back
and squeezed Viola’s shoulder again;
she shook and broke and crumbled to dust,
carried away by the Water and the Wind.