RITA

She came and it was light:

The light of countless twinkles in a champagne glass.

She spoke and all was bright:

The brightness of the sunset in a narrow pass.

What matters how she came or what she said?

Of small importance, now, the cause of strife.

But when she went I wished that I were dead,

For all the light departed from my life.

Longmoor 1948

"Who is/was she?" Stella asked.  I refused to answer.  I was still suffering too much.  By the same token Stella refused to comment.