The ivy on the window sill
Tried to warn me that you were to leave.
But it mourns not for you,
For it is growing while I grieve.

I wonder how this simple plant
Could be green with apathy,
Indifferent that I have lost
The dearest person there was to me?

I think it’s trying to tell me
That life goes on, and I must grow,
Till another ivy touches the sill,
And I go where the soul’s wind shall blow.

I wonder if there’s life for me,
Since you’ve withered brown and away.
Living in your afterdeath,
There’s so much I long to hear you say!

I wonder at what this plant knows,
That such omens with a simple touch
Were portentous enough to show
How my calm life could change so much.