Sonnet of sorts

' Ever let the wind be in my ears,
And never let the rain be at my throat;
For if the wind were whispers, rain were tears:
To secrets I'd be near, to sighs remote.
And should the river run her course in time,
Carrying me and storm's lot to the sea,
Then let the waves be rhythm, foam be rhyme,
And down the poem's current let me flee.
Like, should my ink outrun the course of thought,
Into the sea of feeling she should plunge.
A-swirl on a raft, I doubt I'd float--
But I've the Muse's breath to fill my lungs.
Effortless and regretless trav'ler, I,
Between the winds and waters, free to fly.

- Alexa