all angst gone with the night
but her poignant words will rise
like Lady Lazarus and flower
as tulips blowing in the breeze,
devoured by a myriad of hungry eyes.
But now the snow is deep,
the coldest winter for many a year
adding to a sense of foreboding
and she lies in marble stillness,
typewriter impotent without its magic keys
as they carry her body away.
I read her lines as a freezing dawn nears,
switch off the light...her ghost in the shadows.