I listened to her talking for an hour,
For that was what she needed, then, the most:
She gazed out at the birds in solemn wonder,
As though she saw a vision or a ghost

Then turned to me with moist and reddened eyes,
And said that she could not think anymore –
I held her for a moment, then she left,
Still upright, but, with heavy soul and sore

An hour for two friends down at the park
An interlude before the coming dark
And hour of reality’s cold touch
And knowing that enough can be
Too much