Through the purple-blue of the hyacinth
She did not see the rolling darkness of the sky;
Over the tenor’s warble, all she heard
Was the high reed of the pipes in her brother’s arms.
She reached for a dainty with her soft hand;
Leaned forward to extinguish the flame.
Then as they sang in birthday unison,
As the sky spat black and dirty and the cold came down,
The tears escaped and rolled on a reddened cheek.
Oh please, she said – oh, please.
And the ladies pressed forward to take her hand.
They knew just what to do, when the years press in