Wind

I am no more but you live on,

And the wind, whining and complaining,

Is shaking house and forest, straining

Not single fir trees one by one

But the whole wood, all trees together,

With all the distance far and wide,

Like sail-less yachts in stormy weather

When moored within a bay they lie.

And this not out of wanton pride

Or fury bent on aimless wronging,

But to provide a lullaby

For you with words of grief and longing,