When the storm of grief had spent itself
She went away to her room alone
She would have no one follow her
She sank press down by physical exhaustion
Her body seemed to reach into her soul
Her head thrown back upon the cushion of the chair
Motionless, except a sob came into the throat
A child who has cried itself to sleep
Continues to sob in its dreams
A dull stare in her eyes
Whose gaze was fixed away of patches of blue sky
Fell tumultuously
The look of terror followed from her eyes
The face had never looked saved with love upon her
Gray and dead
Her fancy was running riot
A quick prayer that life might be long
Feverish triumph in her eyes
Carried herself unwittingly
She had died of heart disease the joy that kills