Ⅱ
Well, you are tougher than I thought.
Now when the wash with ice hangs taut
this morning of St. Valentine,
I see you strip the squeaking line,
your body weighed against the load,
and all my groans can do no good.
Because you are still beautiful,
though squared and stiffened by the pull
of what nine windy years have done.
You have three daughters,