As quiet as the voices
Muffled by their cries
Sat a dormant presence
Not one would oblige
...
How does the tear from a cactus grow
Or the water from its withered bow
For there are drenched beams
And forgotten unsewn seams
...
The Widower
As quiet as the voices
Muffled by their cries
Sat a dormant presence
Not one would oblige
Upon their willowing faces
Stands a lady in black
A man stop and wonders
How much should be given back
For the woman is crying
Saddened by the news
Of her husband who died
By the rope of a noose