Niobe

What right have you to die a handsome corpse
when others die gray-headed, marred by age?
The fatal folly of this fancy warps
the strings of time. I think of every stage
your life has missed, the pretty girls unkissed,
the downy chin unshaved. I would have saved
you with my own death if I could, have braved
the last unknown. I clench my useless fist
in my frustration, wrath and grief. So brief,
so tender, so untried, the future years
unlived, most terrible of mothers' fears.
For this there is no solace, no relief,
and I shall weep beside your handsome bier
until the heavens match me, tear for tear.

Karen Tellefsen
kat2@mindspring.com

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