She sat out on the roof and watched
The city in its sadness;
I used to see her every day,
As we had each our habits —

I loved her like the robins sing,
With no real audience —
But she was broken-hearted, then,
And has been since.

For though she kept her lookout true,
Continuing, unwearied,
She never found what she had lost,
Though it was never buried —

I saw her like the seagulls see,
Just circling the distance —
But she was fractured, incomplete,
And has been ever since.

For though we sit atop a roof
To leave behind our cargo,
We cannot get above it all —
Not in this world

Of sorrow