Imperfections of the soul

I don’t know if it is the sun 
That sings a song so deep it reaches my bones. 
I don’t know if it’s the water 
That brushes against my legs.
I don’t know if I want to know all these answers that nature hides. 
For the wind whispers to the trees, 
Saying to trust the air, 
How it will set you free. 
The trees are still trapped 
Through the lie of the wind. 
The grass is still trampled
By children jumping off swings. 
The roses have started to wilt, 
Not knowing exactly what the breeze said, 
Just knowing it was about them. 
Now the trees and grass 
Have fallen for the wind's trap, 
And now they laugh, 
Pointing out the imperfections of the soul.