The strong late winter wind/
blew through me,/
and turned me around again,/
like she never would do me./

It forced upon me at last,
though probably much too late,/
the formidable, daunting task/
of setting my bearings straight./

Like tree branches which are at first/
slowly by breezes unfurled,/
but then by the storm at its worst,/
ripped apart and hurled;/

So my life and emotions were washed away again/
by she who blew through me like the strong late winter wind.