"I adore you."

The widow wailed, as she lay atop
her husbands grave,
"I adore you, I adore you."

Her children sobbed at their fathers passing,
And craved and wailed,
"What will we do, what will we do."

The husbands spirit, on his way out,
Sighed "I love you, I love you"

If tears were currency,
The widows children would be,
Clothed and fed,
Yet starved and thin,
They are instead.

Fair life fled,
As does all.
And yet,
"I adore you."