The Widow

Rose stood on the cliff a cool breeze blowing The rough black ocean below crashing down She was a wild sight with long hair flowing Wind rustling her jet black bombazine gown After six long months she still hoped to see Her husband’s ship overdue from the west She sheltered from the wind under a tree Feeling so humble as though put to test Rose struck furtive glances from left to right Love for him not shallow but always true Hoping and wishing he’d come home this night His nonchalant demeanor and his crew She was expected to be ascetic To live like he was lost forever more Rose thought it would be sweetly poetic If her husband would dock now at the shore Inside she knew that he’d come back some day ‘Til then she’d have hope that would never sway March 01, 2018