I would have been wearing black,
In the traditions of a traditional 
Mourning, a widow decked head
To toe in the colors of loss. Months
Would pass like that, and my grief
Would be symbolized by my attire.
Without widow's weeds, the black
Of mourning is all on the inside, my
Inner self. Oh, nobody mourns all 
The time. I know that. I did not, I
Don't know, deserve the guilt I feel
For not being sad at this moment.
At every moment that passes, all
The moments in which I miss you,
Burt, but I am not mourning you 
All the time, full-time that is, I am 
But I am not sad as every moment
Passes, and I have all those great
Memories you gifted, you left me,
You bequeathed me. In them, I  
Miss you, but I am not sad, not in 
My widow's weeds as I might in 
The tradition of mourning have
Expected to be, I am remembering
You. I am remembering us.