She saw them bear him out in that dark box;
She had seen others go that way before
So many times, had watched them through the door.
Her eyes were dry … There was the orthodox
And ordered weeping from the rest who gazed
In furtive wonder at her white-crowned head
Held so erect in looking at her dead,
Her time-worn face, her eyes impassive, dazed.
“She does not weep” they said. It was too late
For tears … She had so little time to wait.
(Edith Mirick)
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Based on Topics: Faces PoemsBased on Keywords: time-worn, orthodox, white-crowned