The face that was familiar is no more
Though in my dreaming mind his face endures
My heart is not beloved as before.
All alone I’m weary and I’m sore.
I throw myself to earth, the widow’s cure
Would I were a witch. I’d light the fire.
And end my life upon a widow’s pyre
I have no child, my empty womb is bare.
In my dreams he lives, I am a liar