A Woman Repaired

A battered woman in tattered cloths huddled beneath an oak. Befuddled by the stranger’s gaze as he handed her his cloak. Unwittingly, her lips curled up as her tangled hair she stroke. Her pale blue eyes began to tear as she looked upon the bloke. Her yesterdays were filled with pain for her spirit had been broke. Each night she walked beneath the stars, tears flowing; she never spoke. Without knowing, passers-by, would sneer at her cruelly and joke. Her younger years still haunted her, the assaulting by men-folk. Left for dead in her blood stained clothes, after hours she awoke. Now, she cowers-down and slinks away even from her kinfolk. And so she has lived since that distant time, cold, without a cloak Long ago in a frenzied daze, her engagement had been broke. The gold upon her finger disappeared in a cloud of smoke. Her memories of love and peace to that horror had been yoked. Wild blue eyes painted well the scene; deadly terror did evoke. And not one smile escaped her lips since her spirit had been broke. That battered woman in ragged clothes drawn-up beneath the oak, Surprised that someone cared enough and would share with her his cloak. He reached for her with his soft skinned hands; smiling, he bespoke. Come, my dear, and walk with me, a new ring to mend…our hearts broke. Copyright January 12, 2014