A day like any other. Memory dozed. A chilly

and dreary spring dragged on. Then, all at once,

a shadow at the bottom stirred

and from the bottom rose with sobs.

What’s there to sob about? I’m a poor soother!

Yet how she stamps her feet, and shakes, and hotly

clings to my neck and in the dreadful darkness

begs to be gathered up, as babes are, in one’s arms.