II

Hard-eyed daughter of Puritans,
mother of work,
on welfare now,
her youngest dead of leukemia,
in a condemned building,
rats at night,
sits on the deep cry,
the green eyes flaring contra,
" I am still one of you. "
And from its base, unuttered,
another,
" Be not dispirited! "

Writes,
" I know now that the loss
of propriety
is stronger than the soul. "
A terrible year!