The weather knows, the sobbing rain
The sodden trees are weeping out her name

This garden-haven, fig tree freedom
Childhood-graven, never be the same

The rain does fall in Ellatha,
A mawkish rain to mark the summer’s end

A million silk chrysanthemum tears
Cloak the coffin, envelope to send

Your secrets safe, your handsome hands
Your worker’s hands hold wonders to your breast

Your lips are sealed, our tongues are tied
A million fingers, futile, manifest

The weight of years lies lightly now
You lovely in your final evening gown

Awake all night, but dead by morning
Light the candle, watch the wick burn down

The hospital was bitter cold
You lying there, they wailing for a sign

“Mavri Mana! Manoula mou!
Your life was dark, Mama, mother o’ mine”

Autumn came suddenly this year
Caught unawares, a clinging mirthless chill

Crept into joints and bones and cracks
Like withered fingers on a window sill