The lonely widow

The lonely widow






Winter set in,her skin cold and pale

Dry leaves pirouetted in the open

Chilly hands tucked into pockets

High neck sweaters warmed men

Skateboarders pacing through the streets

With coffee shops brewing with people


A few red roses were plucked

From Miss Clare's garden

Neatly placed in the vase

After the thorns were cut

Now in the prime of withered old age

Aged four score

Sombre in solitude's lap

With joy never known

The door rang occasionally

But only for the news

Of parting friends and relatives

And her beloved ones in the grave


Some nights are colder

Than the other nights

When she dreams but of her mate

Whom she lost to sheer fate

That night,she remembered

Still distinct and living

When in her youth ,he left for war

And returned only the wedding ring


Today she sits alone by the fire

Watching her hands in sorrow lower

As roses shrink

By every passing hour


Seasons offer no solace

To a dead heart

While eager eyes wait to retire

Just wishing to depart.....