The wind
W. Wordsworth
To the lean clean land, to the last cold height
you shall come with a whickering breath
from the depths of despair or the depths of delight
stript stark to the wind of death.
And whether you're sinless, or whether you've sinned,
it's useless to whimper and whine,
for the lean clean blade of the cutthroat wind
will slit your weasand and mine.