The Widow's Day

THE WIDOW'S DAY He’d been dead for forty years But she carried on each day Got up at eight and dressed Ate luncheon on a tray No bride was kissed as well No groom felt more complete And one year was their gift When Fate served them defeat She should have followed him But life grabbed her instead Who is to say what’s better The living or the dead Each day as sun drew low She tossed a glass of wine Lolled on the white porch swing And took a dip through time His shadow found her then She touched his rugged face It emphasized the fact No one would take his place And though she craved wild nights-- Cold loneliness was cruel-- she lived her life alone becoming no man's fool. Victoria Anderson-Throop 12/30/12 ©