Sorrow knows no pity, no springtime twilight cool.
Once invited, grieving stays. Sorrow sits across the table in her seat, and with unease I see how familiar it has grown with all her things - i see its shadow where I used to see the sunlight on her
face;
flesh to shadow.
love to memory,
Pain is no seasonal guest. It is a gardener with graveside manners, laboring in all weathers, ploughing my heart into bloody
furrows.
I walked along on the greening shore with her today, but not alone.
Sorrow and Pain followed beside, observing. O God!
They will not even let me hold her phantom hand in peace!
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