It rages and roars, but makes no noise.
Such is its beauty, yes, its poise.
It has a gentle, yet deadly sting:
Not solid, nor liquid, nor gas, nothing.
It chills, it burns, but causes no pain-
Torrents of it rush to the brain.
It may be sharp, but soft as well;
Those who have felt it cannot tell.
It is, it isn't. We call it at will;
It can animate us, or make us still.
What is this fascinating mystery?
We can only guess at its history.