The Wind

The shimmer and glitter of wind-chasing
Loses its sheen every so often
When a new Wind blows.
He defaces my monuments to shame,
Reducing me to the clay that I am,
To be refashioned in finer stone.
I cannot elude the Chief of Pleasures,
In spite of frequent base tastings
That leave me gasping for breath
And out of step.
Wondering if psychology and philosophy
Could help me
If from this constant shepherding I fell.