Weeping through the watercolor window
Peering through the placid pane
There in widow's weeds she's waiting
Garments sodden by the rain.

There the drunken drops a'dreaming
Pelting down through leaking light
Joining with her surfeit sorrow
Wash away the skin of night.

There the bride In black, becoming,
Blonde hair streaming down her side
Remembers, gazing out, her garden,
Now she's trapped on the inside

To her tearstained couch she wanders
Back to grief which she endures
Cacophony will be her council
Affliction has no earthly cure.

There in the foyer of her fancy
Nothing is as she had planned
The harvest, problems she had planted,
Become the garden of the ******.


SoulSurvivor aka
Write of Passage aka
Invisible inc