Maid In Black
She walks alone, the twilight hours
when earth and sky are one,
between the headstones and the flowers,
hid from the dreaded sun.
Naught bestirs, no sound disturbs
nor yet a shadow falls,
before this maid, with soundless words,
her one true lover calls.
But he has fallen long ago
in bygone fields of war,
a hundred years she’s trod this path,
mayhap, a hundred more.
Copyright © Keith Logan | Year Posted 2016
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