I sat with anger all these years
Her presence constant never brief
When held disguising all my fears
Until I found her name was grief.
So kissed this fragile nightingale
This lonely dove now pale with age
That grief it was, to see her sail
But loving left unlocked the cage.
But loss I felt, so dearly bought
For still I loved the nightingale
So long were filled my dreaming thoughts
Of she that lives in mournful tales
Of regrets, clearly I have loved
Unknown there kept in lonely she
The nightingale, the muse beloved
And called, my Grief return to me.
©2026 R.A.R. Knight
Author’s Note:
I saw a quote misattributed to C.S. Lewis. About anger and grief. It felt true. A subsequent search found no attribution possible to a single known author, so I stole it, and played with it, and wrote this, which contains some of it in the first stanza. A real quote from C.S. Lewis that becomes appropriate by the poems end is, “I not only live each endless day in grief, but live each day thinking about living each day in grief.”
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