Charon, descend, I plead. Perverse is this
insane distress that so depletes this life.
Is there no end until you bring her bliss.
Must I implore you to conclude her strife?

Lost are the days her laugh or songs were heard.
Removed is the pizzaz that spun men's heads.
She sees not the brunette curls amiss, furred,
nor the unpressed chiffon peignoir's frayed threads,

that show long years of joy worn of old age
Is there one word that strikes the lock ajar?
I would be glad to give my life upstage.
What must one do? I hate the fraud you are.

Godless, the torment that you tie her to.
Oh, you unjust trustee of the pit czar,
This wait is not embraced. I so hate you
for the depraved, obscene excuse you are!

The sun just rose! At last, escape attained,
her soul released! Now with her God who reigns.