Like a Widow
pitiful what the mirror holds
with glassy eyes, death now beholds
tangled webs of skin's layered shawl,
like a widow, night comes to crawl
lies sticky sweet, hang bead to glass
as memories of life soon pass
death grabs the soul within the shawl,
like a widow, night comes to crawl
darkness drains the last bit of hope,
dangles his prey on tiny rope
then pulls the strings from tattered shawl,
like a widow, night comes to crawl
Copyright © Sandra Adams | Year Posted 2013
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