Today my mother and sisters came to see me. I had been alone a long time with my poems, my pride . . . almost nothing. My sister---the oldest---is grown up, is blondish. An elemental dream goes through her eyes: I told the youngest "Life is sweet. Everything bad comes to an end." My mother smiled as those who understand souls tend to do; She placed two hands on my shoulders. She's staring at me . . . and tears spring from my eyes. We ate together in the warmest room of the house. Spring sky . . . to see it all the windows were opened. And while we talked together quietly of so much that is old and forgotten, My sister---the youngest---interrupts: "The swallows are flying by us."