Finalities

We came; and helpless words were spoken.

So little of her was left,

We could not think of her as broken,

Or lonely, or bereft.

For when he died, such a thin shade

Of her stayed in the room

And talked to us, we felt afraid

In the close-shuttered gloom.

There would be no more quarrel with death

Between her and the grave.

Her spirit vanished with his breath.

We went. We called her brave.