Tea Time

. for public domain What depth of feeling stirs a child's heart? When does it begin? How does it start? And does it wake us rudely in the night, with a sudden tremble, with an awful fright? A nameless shadow fell over me, deep in my sleep, no younger than three, the night I wet my pillow with tears, so much to bear for one so young in years. I could not talk to anyone my sorrow, no words came forth, and none to borrow. And then I heard Wagner's Liebestod, beyond all words, in a realm remote. My terrors then all made sense to me. A door flew open. No need for a key. I now face cruelties Life tosses at me, but never talk about them over tea.