On the Death of Elizabeth Edwards

My soul by it is shaken Like a tree rudely in an arctic wind My frazzled pretenses fall Hope, *****, blustered leaves and all And she still beneath the heaven Just like that is gone, gone too the heart's din And I must now believe this That status and wealth worth nothing, nor fame Prevent the mishap coming Nor the cold winds fierce blowing That all our optimism twist Death stalks and then coldly strikes out our name I will let you go, but sigh Tomorrow as today for the new grief That children feel and silence Fear, a vacant evidence Of all we are neath the sky Despite our little pillow of bright belief.