Young Widow

A Poem

Leafs severing from
The trees,
In hush autumn
A contract,
Of foreverness ending,
Or perhaps a cycle — of
death and rebirth.

Cold hands, empty hearts
Waiting in gallery
For your sparkling shine.
Sitting alone,
Knitting your unworn
cardigan
Tears glistening the fibers
Weaves on… and on

— my despair.