No marble urns, nor crumbling wreaths
no widow's weeds nor plaited hair
Not even skulls are needed to
remember what is always there

The stream that darkly rustles while
the world is breaking into spring
That slow but dogged leitmotif
that threads the life of everything

The widows wear their heavy veils
and rivieres of blackest jet
Instead I do a million things
In order that I might forget

I cram with gorgeous curios
the Wunderkammer of my eye
with hummingbirds and coloured flowers
and every treasure 'neath the sky


Then rush to all my rendez vous
with ticking pocket-watch in hand
and leap around the city like
a rabbit out of Wonderland