Small and emptied woman you lie here a thousand years dead
your hands on your diminished loins flat in this final bed
teeth jutting from your unwound head your spiced bones black and dried
who knew you and kissed you and kept you and wept when you died,
died you young had you grace? Risus sardonicus replied.
Then quick I seized my husband’s hand while he stared at his bride.
Isabella Gardner (b. 1915)