The wind is riding
Its legs are sliding the pedals
The wheel is rolling. . .it is rolling
Backward its glides like a lousy stroll
Without a steed
Still, the winds slighter on such speed

It passes nations or countries
Mourning through the dark valleys

Winds on pedal
His shoes a pair or one side
It bumps the pedal to roll
Poises the frame as it rides

The wind is surging the atmosphere
It solemnizes none
Along the lattice it nimbles on fare
Gloating over the sonorous gong of pans.