Without a sound she turned to face the window.
'Who do I call, the funeral home? ', she asked.
'The family or the church? ', she almost begged,
and outside a cold wind was blowing hard.
Then, barely loud enough to even hear,
she whispered, 'Nothing's here to stay forever.'
Her eyes remained as dry as the gray sky;
I felt as if she wanted and needed to cry.
'It's almost time to go to work, ' she said
as she began to dress for the cold weather.
'Don't want to catch a chill, a cold wind's blowing, '
she said, tying her scarf around her head.
Her scarf was black. Appropriate for mourning.
(9-12-1976)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem