of grief, decay and death

Does grief stay longer
or sadness?
One comes with an agent,
the other flows silently
like blood under the skin.

If I had not tended the pea plant
spent with years of yield,
I would have revolted
at your shrivelled breast
sore with dried milk.

Death like a jug
gets filled with water;
iciness spreads its fingers,
tugs and severs
the gossamer of fine breath.

Poem A Day

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