What’s all this wailing on our ears?
If she loved him, she’d weep more softly.
Perhaps she just misses his licorice stick
Or that cinnamon stob, always so tasty.
Raw orange peel and rosebuds now abandoned.
His celery stalk and lily seeds all lost.
To whom will she give his little scalpel?
To live is to borrow. To die: a giving back.