The Widow's Lament in Springtime

by David "Darkarts" THIERREE.

photo by SamLindsey

    Sorrow is my own yard
    where the new grass
    flames as it has flamed
    often before but not
    with the cold fire
    that closes round me this year.

    Thirty-five years
    I lived with my husband.
    The plumtree is white today
    with masses of flowers.

    Masses of flowers
    load the cherry branches
    and color some bushes
    yellow and some red
    but the grief in my heart
    is stronger than they
    for though they were my joy
    formerly, today I notice them
    and turn away forgetting.

    Today my son told me
    that in the meadows,
    at the edge of the heavy woods
    in the distance, he saw
    trees of white flowers.

    I feel that I would like
    to go there
    and fall into those flowers
    and sink into the marsh near them.

    William Carlos Williams

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