The Widow's 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. Thirty-five 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 e...

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