Rain trickles down the glassy window pane,
Reflecting in her eyes like deep pools round,
Atop a bench she sits hand pressed against the cold,
Looking upon the flooded ashen world about.
Candlelight bounces off the table and walls,
As muffled voices crept up the stairs from below,
She longed to travel to the days of sunlight and warmth,
Never to return to the dark and dismal crowed in her home.
With trembling hand she gently brushes her wet cheek,
The other resting on a shawl furrowed ebony,
From the pocket of her smokey satin gown she reveals,
A delicate handkerchief embroidered E.F. in gold.
She traces the initials with pale fingers thin,
Her eyes gazing into moments only days past,
A rap at the door raises her weary head to a voice,
The time to end this eternal day has come at last.
A mobbing sea of black rush to meet,
The fragile woman who from the stairs descent,
She concludes the evening with smile enameled upon,
Until last griever has left in peace.
Handkerchief in hand she sits by the window pane,
With rain subsided a ray of light peers onto the tattered clothe,
Her once cloudy eyes now fill with a burning light,
No longer alone, but spiritually set free.