From the icy niche where men placed you <br />I lower your body to the sunny, poor earth. <br />They didn't know I too must sleep in it <br />and dream on the same pillow. <br /> <br />I place you in the sunny ground, with a <br />mother's sweet care for her napping child, <br />and the earth will be a soft cradle <br />when it receives your hurt childlike body. <br /> <br />I scatter bits of earth and rose dust, <br />and in the moon's airy and blue powder <br />what is left of you is a prisoner. <br /> <br />I leave singing my lovely revenge. <br />No hand will reach into the obscure depth <br />to argue with me over your handful of bones.<br /><br />Gabriela Mistral<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/death-sonnet-i/
