O wild West Wind

I have sat upon the breath of springtime's being,
with you in the presence of the new leaves
Perhaps these are Shelley's ghosts having fled
now returning from their encounter with some sweet enchanter

We thought, perhaps our song upon these snows
might be that strain of sweetest sound that
wraps itself around the voiceless wind

but friendships fade sometimes before clocktower bells
and the laughter peeling out from children
dancing -- carefree and still so holy.