Sweeps Her Broom
Weaving the literary loom
Words marry, blends warp and weft;
Fell in love a splendid groom
Soon his death leaves her bereft,
In haste writes of worldly broom.
She wrote of flame on chilly nights
Old men reliving the war;
Victims all of infinite fights
Witness the scars on faces they wore
How they jest to shroud phobic plights.
Life began a thread from the womb
Now her misdeed that of old?
She sits in her lonely room
Case of dementia, we are told
A silhouette of life’s long bloom.
© Harry J Horsman 2022
Copyright © harry horsman | Year Posted 2022
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