From cracks and corners comes that wind
Warm and redolent with the scent of other’s past delights
Sometimes creeping, squeezing gently from beneath
Oft times insinuating, enveloping, enfolding.

Shared between two lovers or weaving through the gathered crowd
Touching one yet not another, leaving silent memories
Disowned, deserted, unwanted, never to return
Yet justly blamed where’er it goes.

The airy trumpet blast, both high and low
Can announce itself with pride
Bringing forth such strong emotions
To bring us all to laughter or desperate tears.

Enough to make us flee from its acrid cloud
Or hide our faces from another’s shame
Cracked cheeks resolve and the lull ensues
Until the foetid blow again returns.