#112 A Grief Poem
She walks in beauty, like the night
I stole these words from Byron,
and spoke them sotto voce
when She walked through the door
and across the room and into my soul
until Death do us in.
And Death done so,
taking Her from me too soon
in the fecund fullness of our time
She was there
and then She wasn’t
like smoke in the wind
like dew at dawn.
I talk to Her still
and to Her stillness
and send Her poems
and She answers in my mind
and I have learned to be content with this
and somewhere, somewhere
She still walks in beauty like the night.