An Old Woman's Saga of Life

She leaned on her stick like the Tower of Pisa Her bones, porous and brittle, might break any day She’s all alone, her husband dead and gone Her only son, years before, shot down by a gun Sombre shadows now darken her path Still there is a rare glow in her eyes When young lovers’ clasp and their fingers twine She happily recalls the time she was with him She lived a life of love, coloured in enduring tints Looking back, she has no cause for remorse! Her spine’s bent, unable to straighten itself Still there is a rare glow in her eyes She oft recounts her youth’s glitter and glow That takes her back to life’s bygone splendour She lived content, her tasks as wife and mother, fulfilled Now she is a garment no longer fit to wear Will soon be reaped by the scythe of fate Still there is a rare glow in her eyes Now that her days are numbered, Before her, the sole image of a beauteous form The loving hands of God waiting to embrace her This aged pilgrim focuses only on that goal in view To the grave she quickly treads, never to return And there is a rare glow in her eyes! Placed First in the poetry Contest Strand's (1054) Poetry Contest