Wallowing

Death’s touch today wrung out every heart

that comes within the compass of my own

and dumb I stood, lacking any art

that sympathies to sorrow could have shown

Pouting to myself, I cast a cloud

Selfish as a Jonah, badly used

brooding on my future in a shroud

all self pity happily excused

Though, soon as I had called, some comfort came

I shrugged it all away as if t’were naught

numbed myself in habit’s drudging shame

shunning tenderness so dearly bought

A robin winked at me one eyebrow cocked

to think I wept ‘cause time could not be stopped