I clasped both my hands underneath my dark veil
“What thing, then, today, makes you so deadly pale?”
Only this, that I have with astringent sadness
Filled him up to the point of madness
I’ll never forget how, swaying, he left
His mouth pained, twisted in anguish, bereft
How down, not brushing the stair-rails, I raced
And how, as far as the gate, I gave chase
Still catching my breath, I paused and I cried:
“It was all just a joke. If you leave, I shall die!”
In response, he calmly and horribly grinned
And whispered to me, “Don’t stand in the wind.”