The Widow

A Poem by Melissa Ridge

Oh but she is patient
Quite content with her placement
Her beady eyes spy
The oblivious people going by
Silence is her vow
Not a single sound she will allow
The blood lust is getting stronger
And she will wait no longer
To wait for prey
To clumsily stumble her way
Without a sound
She drops to the ground
From her high perch
A victim to end her search
The death of her spouse
Will look petty to a mouse
And the beauty of her claim
Explains the blackness in her name