All seems different in our abode
The air boreal, denser...

It appears, at least to me
That child-bearers who have passed from this world...

I wonder if an unusual flock of white crowned...
Were there that day, that fateful day...

I wish I had a boat
For yonder past the bay, on a clear azure painted...

The aching is the from residue
Of inebriation creeping through...

Often on the river embankment I observe the same...
Gliding, floating solitarily whilst treading and...

Shall I endure her vilest winter frost
and splay archangels in the idle snow...

O' how I miss and mourn for mother's voice
That swiftly passed like Autumn's southern breeze...

If the azure glow of the ocean
is summers' own liquid crest...

Hades, I implore you! Cut this zealous string
so that I may again laugh and sing...

Oh ruler of all worlds
I plead and pray for another...

The penned sadness of a poetess
as evident in the threads...