I knew a woman, lovely in her bones

I knew a woman, lovely in her bones,

When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them;

I'm martyr to a motion not my own;


What's freedom for? 

To know eternity.


I swear she cast a shadow white as stone.


But who would count eternity in days?


These old bones live to learn her wanton ways


(I measure time by how a body sways.)

-Roethke