now two old ladies sit peacefully knitting,
and their names are sometimes and always

"i can't understand what life could have seen in him" stitch
-counting always severely remarks;and her sister(suppress-
ing a yawn)counters "o i don't know;death's rather attractive"
--"attractive!why how can you say such a thing?when i think
of my poor dear husband"--"now don't be absurd:what i said was
'rather attractive',my dear;and you know very well that
never was very much more attractive,never was

stunning"(a crash. Both jump)"good
heavens!" always exclaims "what
was that?"--"well here comes your daughter"
soothes sometimes;at which

death's pretty young wife enters;wringing her hands,and wailing
"that terrible child!"--"what"(sometimes and always together
cry)"now?"--"my doll:my beautiful doll;the very
first doll you gave me,mother(when i could scarcely
walk)with the eyes that opened and shut(you remember:
don't you,auntie;we called her love)and i've treasured
her all these years,and today i went through a closet
looking for something;and opened a box,and there she
lay:and when he saw her,he begged me to let him
hold her;just once:and i told him 'mankind,be careful;
she's terribly fragile:don't break her,or mother'll be angry'"

and then(except for
the clicking of needles)there was silence


-E.E. Cummings