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.
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