Fair Winds

When the air is heavy
with portents of fair winds        
does the eagle fly
      ever so high        
Shall the Cloud lower itself to the waves,
      kiss the tops        
and return.      
Sometimes I see,
spy far away      
the mote in My eye
wouldst it be thee        
faring afar
  venturing little      

does the power cease
or begin anew      
where does it draw its sustenance?
      
The well may dry      
but the desert lives      
parched and waiting      
Never does that Cloud come near        
shimmering in its pregnant opulence      
boding the wells of abundance
        
It shall be enough to fill the Need