Classic Poem

Who'd have thought, when I was the sick one,
it would be you we'd weep for!
In bed I started from my pillow in alarm;
others supporting me, I wept beside the lamp.
A daughter in truth can tangle you in feeling;
because I've no son, does that exempt me from grief?
Once the sickness struck, a mere ten days,
though we'd reared you to the age of three.
Each cry I uttered, tears of anguish poured forth;
everything I confronted brought wrenching sorrow—
clothes you wore still on the clothes rack,
last of the medicine there where you rested your head.
I saw you through the lanes of our secluded village,
watched them lay you in a little grave.
Don't tell me it's only three miles away—
this parting is for all time!