Classic Poem

I am weary of your talk of sorrow.
Sorrow is a word you must not say,
Not cry to night, nor whisper to the day.
Sorrow as a word is undefined;
It is a food, taste it and on the morrow
Tell nothing of the flavor of the rind.

I am weary of the thought of sorrow.
Sorrow is a thought I must not keep,
Not hold by day nor cherish through my sleep.
Sorrow is a feeling in my hand.
Then let me lock my knuckles and tomorrow
Speak not of what I do not understand.

Let us have nothing more to say of sorrow.
Our word's concern is but a twisted leaf
Blown down the shadowed verities of grief,
Falling into the silence whence it came.
Let us await the day after tomorrow
And lightly hear Time tell us sorrow's name.