Today my mother and sisters <br />came to see me. <br /> <br />I had been alone a long time <br />with my poems, my pride . . . almost nothing. <br /> <br />My sister---the oldest---is grown up, <br />is blondish. An elemental dream <br />goes through her eyes: I told the youngest <br />"Life is sweet. Everything bad comes to an end." <br /> <br />My mother smiled as those who understand souls <br />tend to do; <br />She placed two hands on my shoulders. <br />She's staring at me . . . <br />and tears spring from my eyes. <br /> <br />We ate together in the warmest room <br />of the house. <br />Spring sky . . . to see it <br />all the windows were opened. <br /> <br />And while we talked together quietly <br />of so much that is old and forgotten, <br />My sister---the youngest---interrupts: <br />"The swallows are flying by us."<br /><br />Alfonsina Storni<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/they-ve-come/
