Who ripped his roots out from my fragile heart
And left me hollow ,bleeding and alone?
We who love know all humans must part.
Pain must touch us women who’re not stone.
Yet I did not understand what we’d become;
Enchanted roots all tangled as were one
When he died , the wound has made me lame.
For my roots bereaved seem almost to have gone.
I stand on tilted ground like a ship’s deck
When by squalls and gales it is besieged.
I picture in my mind my own such wreck
Yet death does not take all lovers who’re bereaved.
My roots will spread again when spring comes by.
Till then I lean and shudder lest I die
