She doesn't want to talk today.
She sleeps in silence, not a gasp.
She doesn't want to walk away
but she's inclined to want to grasp

her silver clasps and diamond rings,
and throw them all into the trash.
Her will to act has died with Spring.
The snow that falls just turns to ash.

She shuts the door and shuns the day
and drifts off into that good night.
Since what's in store is bound to stay
she lives within and out of sight.

The frightened ones step out of line.
She doesn't want to walk away.
The brightened sun comes out to shine.
She doesn't want to talk today.