Whipping wind withers the land
Stealing sands, solid walls, and stages
Cycling air spin everywhere
Claiming all it encounters
A house, a school, and children
When will the twisted turns end?
Burnt into the ground
Grasping, grinding
suddenly no sound
Across a plain once bound
Scattered winds
Leave stolen sound.
Now a world is quiet.
A helping hand
May restore items,
but the lives taken
Must forever live in memory.