The Old Woman
Shawled against
the damp night chill,
she waits
slumped low,
crumbled
in her favorite chair.
Old and tired
she waits.
Eyes, once bright,
cast a milky stare
blind to all
but distant memories
and moments carved
treasured wooden dolls
faces and form
now whittled away
unrecognizable.
Lines and furrows etch
the frail countenance
struggling in vain to see
a fast approaching
destiny.
Daylight dims as twilight fades,
and lurking in the corner there,
A Dark Shadow
smiles. . . . .
as the old woman waits
Alone.
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