My echoing laughter
Catches the walls
Just below the ceiling
When I see it again
In the reiteration of his own hand

That you were right
And the world was wrong
That it was not meant to be as this
A singing song
But a reproach of the sigh
Of another man

How clever of the Frost to hide
On another set of snowy hands
  
How clever indeed were you also to find
The original meaning of such a man

With props to you
I laugh again