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.
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