her
She said that every death is her-
a piece of her dying.
And the tears a woman cries
Across the world-
She pats a handkerchief to her eyes
to ease the pain.
The world’s sadness consumes her,
as she sits in her chair, trying to mend
the broken pieces of her heart.
I hold her hand and tell her,
Don’t cry, don’t cry,
I love you.
But the cries of the anguished
are all she hears.