Alone.
A crone's heart of mine bleeds, Torrents of tears fall on an icy stone, The world around tumbles noisily, While I sit in the middle, but all alone. Desolation also leaves and breath stops, The winds have changed, too hard I try, Yet these blows and thorns of steel have not, And neither shall they make me cry. The absent shoulders and laps are cold I want deep roots in me and mine, No one there to answer my questions, Is ask of a thing so small, so big a crime?