Donald Hall
The Reward

    Curled on the soda

in the fetal position, Jane wept day

    and night, night and day.

I could not touch her; I could do nothing.

    Melancholia fell

like the rain over Ireland for weeks

    without end.

            I never

belittled her sorrows or joshed at

    her dreads and miseries.

How admirable I found myself.

Found In Volume 25, No. 03
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Donald Hall
About the Author

Donald Hall has published numerous books of verse, including White Apples and the Taste of Stone (2006).  He lives on a farm in New Hampshire.