You are as old as time-
you sprang forth from the first breath taken;
yet you have aged not,
for you are born anew with each gust of wind
and every gental breeze

The leaves dancing on the trees
and still water silently mirthful with sudden ripples
show that you pass by.
Fleet of foot with winged heels,
the messenger of the Gods,
with words that all must hear
cascading from your silver tounge;
from the Gods you bring healing,
Healing from your magick touch.

You are quicksilver,
you are the wind,
you are Hermes,
the very breath of life.