The Widower

For a season there must be pain–

For a little, little space

I shall lose the sight of her face,

Take back the old life again

While She is at rest in her place.


For a season this pain must endure,

For a little, little while

I shall sigh more often than smile

Till time shall work me a cure,

And the pitiful days beguile.


For that season we must be apart,

For a little length of years,

Till my life’s last hour nears,

And, above the beat of my heart,

I hear Her voice in my ears.


But I shall not understand–

Being set on some later love,

Shall not know her for whom I strove,

Till she reach me forth her hand,

Saying, “Who but I have the right?”

And out of a troubled night

Shall draw me safe to the land.


Rudyard Kipling (1865 – 1936)

Andrea Jackson The Holistic Celebrant

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