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
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