Thy cloak that swirls about thy head,
A veil against the dark night hours,
To stave off all that thou may dread.
Thy pride, thy cape, it gains thee powers.
Thou walkest alone, resolved in this,
Thou stands, fair as a flower at dawn.
And ne’er thou utters a single groan,
Even though, it seems, all hope is gone.
Thy husband died at Summer’s end,
So clothed in black, thou walks the street,
Silent and strong, without a plea,
Thy cloak thou wears, without a friend.
Pride helps thee stand and walk thy way,
Until the darkness turns to gray.
