Niobe

At the end, what bird could you have become?
One that can never return to its plundered nest,
and must circle and circle until it falls —
only in death accepting any resting place.
But, as stone that can weep, it will take
immeasurably longer for you to wear yourself away:
the grieving commensurate with the loss;
that slow trickle down flesh as cold as the gods.