Widow, poem, please read?

Well you play the widow


Mourning in black wool cloak.


Slipping by, a tear at your eye,


Under a shrouded of grief smoke.





Well you play the widow,


Bare wrist clutching your chest.


Graciously welcoming the funeral flowers


Of which you detest.





Well you play the widow,


Running his comb through your hair.


Waiting, sorrowed, quietly,


In your lonely rocking chair.





Well you play the widow,


Turning your face to the sun.


Grey curled tendrils coming loose


From a weathered bun.





Well you play the widow,


Clinging to stone walled shadow.


Wine-lipped frown etched


Into high cheekbones, shallow.





Well you play the widow,


Writing the eulogy.


Poetic, heroic, a hardworking man,


A man whose heart is now free.

Widow, poem, please read?
Exeptionally beautiful.





A 10/10. Very deep. Very cultured words. THIS is what you call TALENT.



flower