Shakled Free

Bellowing, the harsh wind lunges,
Breaking the bows of the tree,
Setting the leaves, the bonds of the free.
Shackles turn to dust,
Caught up it in the gales,
As the chains begin to rust.

Like the lightning striking the ground,
The free green leaves turn to leave the clouds.
Swirling on eddies too and fro,
Landing lightly on the snow.
But little do they realize,
It is all for show.

They devil may have let them go,
But the blast of wind though much more,
Imprisons the green on the gales,
In body, mind, and soul.
The bonds of freedom and fate,
Are more binding than the chains of late.