9e. She Xiii Poem by Samuel Stuart Pennell

Being with her is like

A blustery wind,
gently blowing snowflakes,
into my face and nose

And a puff of crystal dust
hangs in the air,
for the eternity of a split second,
as if wing'd pixies were buzzing and floating
all around me

I have the urge
to swat the pixies away,
but it is like heaven to me
and there is no need
to capture the rapture;
It will be what it will be
And it is best floating free

as the mathematical logic of happiness
floats away on the wind


I remember December,
and the feeling
that there was an empire of snow
floating all around us,
swirling quietly
in the curious silence