So I like Cosette, so what. This is a poem about her.
The Aftermath and a New Frock
It was the first dress she bought
After the proper period of mourning
For one who died peacefully in his sleep
A man of many years
Raspberry Mousse
The dressmaker called the colour
A relief from the black of mourning
It held memories
Of the first dress he'd given her
A little girl's frock of purple wool
He didn't believe in children mourning
Not even for a mother, grown old before her time
Her love had recovered, so would she
Unlike so many others
Their blood staining the ground
Students, workers, beggars who dreamt of something better
She wore black for them, and for her "father"
Now she wears Raspberry Mousse