East-wind - supreme fiddler of your palace,
plays such a powerful tune- without any malice.
The waves dance fiercely to the liveliest can-can,
Crushing eachother- unable to stop their run.
Raising up like wild horses, maines in tangles,
While the sun shines through all angles -
Of  the maidens bottle green ballgowns and their bangles.

Their white laced hoods are thrown in the air,
Millions of pearls descending quiet and fair-
From the stark blue sky, canvas of your celebration
Lending peace and stillness to your spectacular creation.
The beauty in your power, my Lord, begs adoration!

Let me remember this feast,
When I am gripped by sadness, fatigue or any such beast.