Memento For My Mourner

Think you, if this were I,
You would be let to cry?

Were it I, for your sake,
Think you I would not wake?

Ever did you appear
And I not know you near?

When have you found me such,
Cold as a stone to touch?

Seemed I in any mood
Blank as a block of wood?

Gave you I no more heed,
When, than a withered weed? . . .

When, than a lock of hair
Under a barber’s chair?

From Boundaries