The Eyes of a Widow

The snow had begun to gather
Upon the window sill.
The front yard was bare
As it had been the day he left.

But those eyes did not see the snow fall,
The eyes of a window.

She did not speak, nor eat, nor move.
She only waited
Collecting dust,
Like a forogtten photograph.

Day by day she faded,
Melting into the wood work
But she sat without complaint,
For someone who was never coming home.

But those eyes did not see the folded flag,
The eyes of a widow.





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