The Girl
I see her sometimes,
When the cold autumn air,
Causes blinds to be pulled down,
and fires to be lit.
She sits in a chair,
That is no longer there.
I watch her
while she sits.
Her dress is of the palest blue,
Forget-me-nots
Embroidered on the sleeves.
She knows I watch her,
and she does not care,
But if I try to speak to her,
she leaves.
Sometimes she sits contentedly,
Other times she cries.
I would love to know the story,
Of her life,
and her demise.
Copyright © Bev Stewart | Year Posted 2018
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