Poetry Pleases: The Stone
Here's a poem written at a time of great stress in Marianne Hall's life.
Bitterly cold today
Fingers like frostbite
But nothing as cold as the stone
Usually friendly
Reverberating answers
Today it was just a stone
Ashes just ashes
Stone just stone
A shock to get no response
Has the chord been severed?
Must I live with the living
Not with the dead?
Numbed but relieved
A tinge of regret maybe
But life must go on
with the living instead.
