Black March

I have a friend

At the end

Of the world.

His name is a breath

Of fresh air.

He is dressed in

Grey chiffon. At least

I think it is chiffon.

It has a

Peculiar look, like smoke.

It wraps him round

It blows out of place

It conceals him

I have not seen his face.

But I have seen his eyes, they are

As pretty and bright

As raindrops on black twigs

In March, and heard him say:

I am a breath

Of fresh air for you, a change

By and by.

Black March I call him

Because of his eyes

Being like March raindrops

On black twigs.

(Such a pretty time when the sky

Behind black twigs can be seen

Stretched out in one

Uninterrupted

Cambridge blue as cold as snow.)

But this friend
Whatever new names I give him
Is an old friend. He says:

Whatever names you give me
I am
A breath of fresh air,
A change for you.

(Stevie Smith)