THE WINDOW WIDOW

THE WINDOW WIDOW

by Ronald Brown

 

The widow sits at the window;

Her face framed in its panes.

A weeping war widow;

The image of sadness and pain.

 

 

Whenever I pass her way, she’s there;

Sunlight highlighting her ebony hair;

Staring out her window on the second floor;

Eyes too tired to cry anymore.

 

 

She had watched him go bravely to war;

Not sure of what he was fighting for.

Now it seems no cause was worth the loss;

No spoils won could have been worth the cost.

 

 

He lived and died a war hero,

But his death had made her a War Widow;

A lonely lady looking out of a Window;

A lady known as the Window Widow.

 

 

Does she envision soldiers with cadence slow?

Perhaps she can hear a military bugler blow.

Maybe she sees images of the flag they were folding,

Or hears the sound of 21 rifles exploding.

 

 

Maybe she awaits her hero’s return,

As if he’s just been on a long sojourn.

And soon he will come marching home;

And she will no longer be alone.

 

 

She’s sitting at the window;

Her face framed in the panes;

A victim of war’s hurt and sorrow;

The image of sadness and pain.

 

 

He lived and died a war hero

But his death made her a War Widow;

A lonely lady looking out of a Window;

A lady known as Window Widow.

 

But those folks who know her know

So, they tread lightly by her window;

Maybe mouthing a silent hello,

And a wave or a nod as they go.

 

The widow sits at the window

Her face framed in the pane.

A weeping war widow;

Image of sadness and pain.

 

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