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The Widows Lament In Springtime

 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.
Thirtyfive 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.

by William Carlos (WCW) Williams
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