Ironically, the mourner must console
Must lend an ear , must seem,must exhale calm
To visitors and friends who make their calls
We are not permitted rightful roles
Of grieving widow,mother, woman harmed
Ironically, the mourner must console
The cancer patient’s told to be more whole
The illness, like a poison snake, to charm
Say visitors and friends who make their calls
How much of our self can be controlled
By power of will or meditation’s balm?
Ironically, the sufferer must console
Was there Eden, was there a great Fall?
Is there a God or has he been embalmed?
Oh visitors and friends go make your calls
Like the Mariner I am becalmed
For I did not gather death into my arms
Ironically, the mourner must console
The visitors and friends who feel the call
How my heart sings 