Well you play the widow
Mourning in black wool cloak.
Slipping by, a tear at your eye,
Under a shroud 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.
A contest entry
- Contest for poets up to five medals ( no medal included) by Manoj Sanyal.
370 points, ended March 15, 2008, 7 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
-
excellent poem... liked reading.
Best wishes and good luck,
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