Solace In The Time Of Death

Ellen watches out her window, at the clear, snowy day.
The TV cheerfully babbles cartoons and high spirits,
but she doesn’t hear it at all, only watches the snow
and the colorless, glass sky, and mourns the sun.
 She remembers walking in tall, tawny grass, the sun
warm on her face, the breeze on her bare arms,
the promise of something magical in those deep woods,
in the whole of the day stretched before her.
 But the world was now cold and without pity,
all the pretty things and bright colors had been put away.
She was stuck inside with the TV or the radio, or her own head.
She was inside all day, and her spirit ached and bled.
 She lays down on the floor, TV still blathering, still empty,
and wishes away the roof and calls down the sun, the hot
light and all the cold waters and green forests and bright blooms,
all the wonders of summer and the remembrance of paradise.
 And there she stands now, the TV gone, the snow left behind,
in the deep woods, near the cold waters, with all those bright blooms
nodding their heads in supplicant prayer to her. She is here,
in that cherished world, without death or fear or sorrows.
 Her kingdom, solace in the time of death.

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