When the wind rushes among the shrooms

When the wind rushes among the shrooms, it'll go around it'll change color it'll change speed it'll change direction it'll medley with reality! It'll silence the silence. And last but not least, the water will ring. Like a magical fountain Of a cynical mountain. And we're too critical, amountin'. When the wind tears and shreds the trees, they fall like dead bees and raging like the seas, they'll ravage reality like the breeze. And together let's freeze. And a fall to remember but to never surrender to real to render realer than reality and splendor. When the trees fall they change, upon the orange range, so dazzlingly strange. They would turn to dust, just as we must like the metal, as it rusts. "We must" In other words, "we lust". Storms come in clusters Clouds come lackluster. The clouds like fractals, the smallest clouds give off snow, the largest cloud gives off thunder, slow The main cloud surrounded by three smaller clouds, each surrounded by three even smaller clouds, those of which are surrounded by three tiny clouds The smallest spinning quickly, the largest spinning slowly, the smallest spinning lazily, the largest spinning persistently. Persistence is like existence. Resistance is like resilience. Dynamic as a fractal, but majestic like clouds. The snow come quickly, the lightning come slowly. The lightning like Oklahoma, and the snow like Minnesota. Cold like Dakota, yet the trees, they fall their speed depending on cloud size. And so was the story of a fractal that never was. But how magical the buzz.