She is surprised how comforting
she finds solitude, now that
the chittering of the tiny bird has
stopped. Stopped and stuffed
into a small, gray shoebox
dropped into a hole and covered
with dirt.
Friends say
a new bird would feel just the same
would not be a betrayal
to the memory of the deceased
in any way, that itís not healthy
for her to be all alone
not seeing her
as she sits at the kitchen
sipping tea, eyes closed, content
savouring the quiet, the sound
of her own soft breath.

Holly Day

If you have any thoughts on this poem, 
Holly Day would be pleased to hear them.