When your father's ghost came round,
you bade him to please stay,
but he just slipped away.
You cried all night in bed,
as I held your trembling head.
I said, "You've lost too much too fast. But this too, Will pass."
The last night when you left your old New England town,
by the cold Long Island Sound,
Your winsome voice was pinched.
When I leaned in close, you flinched.
You'd changed so much, so fast, but I thought, "This too, will pass."
I rode down the dark street
and stopped out in the snow.
I watched my friends through their front window.
They laughed under the lights,
but I turned towards the night.
They don't know not to ask,
though this, too, will pass.