I hurried in sudden discomposure,
To collect the final dregs of winter
Chagrined and helpless, seen it leave.
Sadness is on its own today.
My dreamy morning indolence
Is no more broken by trickles of her wet hair
Neither the air smells of her.
The morning coffee is on its own today.
The afternoons are devoid
Of pigeons meeting in my courtyard
Neither the sun mellows over here.
The armchair ruminations are on their own today.
I felt her absence in the midnight
Of no wakeful poet in the neighborhood
The day ends again and
Sadness is again on its own today!