Her eyes blinked-
Sending a tear,
Down her cheek;
Her heart trampled-
Like a wild animal,
Held onto a leash;
The spring had come,
And with it came-
The sweet-smelling lavenders,
That hung low,
Seeing her sorrow-laden face.
'Don't worry dear,
I'll be back for you,
In a week's time',
Thus he had said to her,
On a cold rainy night,
When the wind lashed-
Against the unhooked windows,
Making them dance,
On their hinges.
But the war went on,
And weeks turned into months,
And months into years,
Leaving not a minute;
For them in its clock.
The phone rang that morning;
She hurried down the stairs,
Slipping a step or two,
Hoping it to be-
Her dear partner.
She had been crying,
Ever since she picked up-
That mysterious call,
Which had made her,
Crack down on the floor;
For a sad call,
I'm sure it was.
Of course, he had come!
But why did his arrival,
Leave her lamenting?
There she sits-
On the cold floor-
Just in the middle-
Of the carpet-spreaded hall,
And beside her,
Lie her husband,
Soulless and cold,
In a well-built coffin.
And the war went on,
Seeing all this,
And creating-
Many soulless cold bodies,
And leaving all those-
Dear ones lamenting.