Death Sonnet I

From the icy niche where men placed youI lower your body to the sunny, poor earth.

They didn't know I too must sleep in itand dream on the same pillow.

I place you in the sunny ground, with amother's sweet care for her napping child,
and the earth will be a soft cradlewhen it receives your hurt childlike body.

I scatter bits of earth and rose dust,
and in the moon's airy and blue powderwhat is left of you is a prisoner.

I leave singing my lovely revenge.

No hand will reach into the obscure depthto argue with me over your handful of bones.