I’d seen the widow walk back and forth
The length of the village street,
Her veil so black and her dress so long
You’d see neither face nor feet,
She never would speak to anyone
But would simply seem to glide
Within the folds of that mourning dress
Like a slowly ebbing tide.

At first she’d walk at the early dawn
But then she’d be gone by noon,
The light of day would spirit away
Her wandering sense of gloom,
She’d not be seen till the sun went down
When you’d hear the swish of lace,
Catching along the sea wall stone
And whipping around her face.

She never would miss the evening tide
That would bring the fleet back in,
Check every boat that was still afloat
If its catch was full, or thin,
Her only love had gone out one day
With his sails set high to roam,
His boat had floated out in the bay
But he had not come home.

It took a week for the widows weeds
To start to march on the shore,
And no-one dared to look in her face
So deep was the grief she wore,
‘I never knew pain like this exists,’
She’d cry, when she was alone,
But over the next few painful weeks
She knew that he’d not be home.

Then she slowly tore off the widow’s veil,
She gave up the mourning dress,
I watched her enter the world again
Just as beautiful, no less.
It took me months but I won her round,
I’d kept my scheme afloat,
By hiding away the tools I’d used
To sink her husband’s boat.

David Lewis Paget