#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.

-R.L. Nona