Sorrow is my own yard <br />where the new grass <br />flames as it has flamed <br />often before but not <br />with the cold fire <br />that closes round me this year. <br />Thirtyfive years <br />I lived with my husband. <br />The plumtree is white today <br />with masses of flowers. <br />Masses of flowers <br />load the cherry branches <br />and color some bushes <br />yellow and some red <br />but the grief in my heart <br />is stronger than they <br />for though they were my joy <br />formerly, today I notice them <br />and turn away forgetting. <br />Today my son told me <br />that in the meadows, <br />at the edge of the heavy woods <br />in the distance, he saw <br />trees of white flowers. <br />I feel that I would like <br />to go there <br />and fall into those flowers <br />and sink into the marsh near them.<br /><br />William Carlos Williams<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-widow-s-lament-in-springtime/
