A Walk
The old woman walked the empty streets past houses painted white,
She heard the sounds of youthful laughter through open windows.
The wind blew autumn leaves around her tired feet- her coat held no warmth,
She feels the aches within her weathered body and knows the mirror did not lie.
'It feels so good to be outside', she says to the empty street-maybe the moon heard,
her pace quickens as she heads for home to her crumbling whitewashed abode.
'tomorrow maybe the sun may warm me for a while' she tells herself,
sighing she sits in her old tattered armchair and peers into the darkness outside her closed window.
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