REQUIEM; a lost verse

I came across this single typed sheet of paper today. It is a poem, or verse, my mother wrote in college, winning first place in something or other related to 'English'.

It reminded me of her, and I thought how much she would protest me reading it aloud. She often thought of art as a subtle and private experience. I assume she would have taught me this, eventually, had she been able to get me to stop singing and get down off the roof.

This is for you, Mom.

I think it's darkly beautiful.

A poem, written by my Mom, in her college days:

REQUIEM

The streets are still...
Women of Corinth have threaded their way,
Through tumult, homeward
To dream troubled dreams.

The palace is silent...
Little wisps of smoke
Still curl
Into the courtyard
Over trampled bodies and into the night,
Trailing, perhaps,
Medea,
In her flight to Athens.

Even the sky is quiet...
Clouds that darkened day
Have fled,
Perhaps to Athens,
Leaving the moon to gild
Destruction,
And to gleam upon the solitary
Jason,
Who, alone, holds vigil
For the dead.