Ever printed on my mind:
Eyebrows raised, lips open wide,
Eyes to calm a new-born child.

Not a crease on forehead spoke
Of disappointment, loss of hope
In me; all anger stayed inside.

I did not feel it. But I guessed it must be there,
As scientists who look at quiet brooks but know
Earth’s magma never ceases stirring deep below,
And how much strain her thin crust must endure
To keep us blissfully in ignorance secure.