Song

(On seeing dead bodies floating off the Cape)

The first month of his absence
I was numb and sick
And where he'd left his promise
Life did not turn or kick.
The seed, the seed of love was sick.

The second month my eyes were sunk
In the darkness of despair,
And my bed was like a grave
And his ghost was ly?ng there.
And my heart was sick with care.

The third month of his going
I thought I heard him say
Our course deflected slightly
On the thirty-second day-
The tempest blew his words away.