Wednesday, April 26, 2006

95. AFTERWARD - Adrienne Rich

Now that your hopes are shamed, you stand
At last believing and resigned,
And none of us who touch your hand
Know how to give you back in kind
The words you flung when hopes were proud:
Being born to happiness
Above the asking of the crowd,
You would not take a finger less.

We who know limits now give room
To one who grows to fit her doom