It's spring wind,
That makes my past grind.
Grinds into nothingness,
This surprise I couldn't guess.

O love! Stormy romantic!
Be a little less frantic.
Will you sweep me away?
Again I'll be lively trouncing dismay?

O sky! Look look!
Me a restless brook.
What an enchanting time!
I'm creating rippling rhyme.

Is he wind or a man?
Came to me as a fan.
How cruelly makes memory wane!
Is he clinically or poetically insane?