Does the grieving widow

Does the grieving widow

See the blue sky

Welcome it with the morning

She wishes it were so

When last she looked

The daffodils were as tall

As they would ever be

Waving across the field

In a frenzied outpouring

Of strange agrarian

Antipathy to the cultivation

Of the wildwood

She saw the chestnut trees

As roaring drunkards

Marauding across the parkland

Everyone attempting to be free

Of their shackles

She beheld crows as auguries

Of great concern

By the grace of her command

They would be killers

She could be a warlock

Every rock a skull

The church an Ossuary

Where dead men weep

For their lost childhood

Was it always so

When did she begin

To see the dark side

Walked hand in hand

With pain and sorrow

Even as she slept

Her dreams were cloaked in misery

A never-ending search

For lost love

Ever does she waken

Pulling out of a deep morass

Wading through a turgid mass

Of wailing souls

Escaping into morning

With a sigh

Wishing for the smell

And taste of summer

To reveal itself

Hoping for a different outlook

To the one, she woke to

Yesterday

How much she wishes it were so.