Poem VII: Unspoken

Holly! What a white-souled, grey-faced child.
Her feet shrink in this snow,
her head hangs down beneath this heavy sky.
If only I knew why.

Richard. Not distinguished, wealthy, wild…
Not anything I know.
And yet he speaks to me with warmth to make
of me his human kin.

Stooped in bluish pools of grief-bruised skin
her eyes that once were suns
so nobly and so feebly try to shine.
Not if she were mine.

And why should I not answer one made kin,
in kindness’ kind? The nuns
will do that much for love and goodness’ sake.

I longed for paths lit longwise from above,
but one step lights the next for humble Love.

To Poem VIII

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