My hands clasped under a veil, dim and hazy…
‘Why are you so pale and upset?’
That’s because I today made him crazy
With the sour wine of regret.
Can’t forget! He got out, astound,
With his mouth distorted by pain…
I, not touching the railing, ran down,
I was running to him till the lane.
Fully choked, I cried, ‘That’s a joke —
All that was. You get out, I’ll die.’
And he smiled very calmly, like stroke:
‘It is windy right here — pass by.’