The WIDOW'S DAY

Written by: Victoria Anderson-Throop

THE WIDOW'S DAY


He’d been dead for forty years
But she carried on each day
Got up at eight and dressed
Ate luncheon on a tray

No bride was kissed as well
No groom felt more complete
And one year was their gift
When Fate served them defeat

She should have followed him
But life grabbed her instead
Who is to say what’s better
The living or the dead

Each day as sun drew low
She tossed a glass of wine
Lolled on the white porch swing
And took a dip through time
His shadow found her then
She touched his rugged face
It emphasized the fact
No one would take his place

And though she craved wild nights--
Cold loneliness was cruel--
she lived her life alone
becoming no man's fool.

Victoria Anderson-Throop
12/30/12  ©