Thrice a Widow
She's thrice now had a scarlet groom
Adorned in silk this dusty room
She sobbed away sorrows in black
When she discovered the knapsack
In gold and pearls, did sorely lack
And her head and palm greeted, smack!
Like his body met the floor, thwack!
The house empty, less her they track
Hardened heart, hollowed like a tomb
Was it lover's spat or planned doom?
Duo-rhyme? Not quite got the iambic tetrameter down, but I tried.
Copyright © A.E. Rivenbark | Year Posted 2014
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