I WRITE to tell you how the loss of your struck me hard amid my smiles my blowing kisses to the world the loss of your used up my remedies the usual consolations are sharp beaks pecking pecking my most tender the hills become shadows my mind moves off among them my soul left alone refuses thought those who could help me to drink to your are here and there about the world not gathered nor looking to attend my hands raised the glass in them it's no good my feet are numb eyes refuse to blink hair keeps growing I have spilled and keep spilling