The Widow

Nancy Telfair

The night which fell upon the world outside
Was not so dark as that within her soul,
The sleepless hours bringing the dread bell's toll
Forever to her ears-not to subside,
But emphasize the never-ending round
Of listless effort to provide a bare
Poor sustenance. With no one now to share,
Could death be wrong for one so sternly bound?
An oak bough brushes by the murky pane-
The sound arouses her, makes her afraid,
And she is startled into life again.
She leaves her bed to raise the limp-hung shade-
A shy wind touches her pale cheeks, and tears
Unshed begin to wash away her fears.