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ROBYN MATHISON

Coda to the Sad Song  

In nineteen seventy

I pawned my wedding

and engagement rings

to buy my daughter shoes.

I never did

get them out of hock again.

 

But time’s a great redeemer.

Little feet grow, fingers thicken,

girls grow into women,

old sadness disappears.

So let the lamenting fiddle

break into jigs and reels.