Time

She sits in her rocking chair, and the wind sweeps through her silver hair.

As elegant as red roses atop gold Persian sheets,
Her thoughts drift off with the winds..

Away,
and forgotten to those with amends.

A stray memoir to hold in her hands,
A pleasurable glow, warming her heart from her fingertips in..

A lover’s song, somewhere to begin.

Erect, from her rocking chair,
She assembles her cane..

The Indian summer breeze catches her silver hair.

The sun disappears behind the trees,
And her glowing warmth is painted in the clouds..

She recalls the bubbles in a glass of champagne, the laughter in the crowds.

Two aged and tired eyes,
Purge with two hot and lonely tears..

This devoted widow swallows the lump in the back of her throat,
As his face reappears in the stars, after all of these years.