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104

XXXVII.

The sorrow is spread across a wider space
When brothers, sisters, mourn one common loss.
But she and I stood face to face:
I bear alone my cross.
A widow she, and I an only son—
That made communion sweet.
Our lives were closely linked, as few or none
Have had the gladness—and the grief—to meet.
No separation marred our joy;
The mother had become the perfect friend:
The man drew even nearer than the boy,
Aye, ever nearer, till the very end.