The Widow's Voice

There were his things, not estimating quote the widow tracking lightly wherewithall, his seasons, his reports, his favorite joke and somewhere his adventures fill the wall. The doors seem shut, but sunlight in between does catch a space to modify extreme, how wise the time were then, as wisdom seen unending, but in gathering still the dream! Now, only place, but echo's still esteem a gusty propelling, his voice would ream exhilaration still encountered, seen the used momentum rising to extreme! How quiet home now sits, its thought's redeem is in the parsonage of caring, life still earned ne'er scuttled, nor embraced without restraint as even prayer acquitting would adjourn! The widow, not by rocking, watching scorn but the activity of caring, not forlorn and this as love, no maintenance now worn can change the loves encounter, nor conform! How be it our togethers took its tide in other memories, transfixing, rung when once we reached unerring, side by side now memories of the wasted, lie unsung! Left over, now as aged faith's succumb enthusiasm shed amidst the young cannot endure this epilogue of choice it is by aging, true love finds a voice!