Listen to poem:
Lonely Weaver
A lorn woman sits at the windowpane,
Working firmly, she knits wool, not in vain.
As she darns, she recalls tales from the past,
Her touch grooves slyly as the yarn is cast.
Vases and green plants decorate the room,
Their vibrant shadows animate and bloom.
Her gaze drifts beyond, amid the lush green,
A strange settle where her heart was serene.
Her hands clasp a cozy baby sweater,
A sign of brightness, a pledge to fetter.
Longs for her son, innocuous and pure,
Frame flesh full by filling it with demure.
However, the years have passed and gone by,
Leaving her with lifelong musings that sway.
Her kids are grown and have their lives to live,
Leaving her down while in a lifelong strive.
By the window, she snoops the world goes by,
Yearning for companionship a smooth sigh.
She weaves her story into every thread,
A witness to her strength and inner dread.
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