The Soldier's Wife
Once upon a crisp Autumn day
While the winds were stirring and the children did play
Upon an elderly lass I did glance
Whose eyes were brightly viridescent and as wild as chance
Alone on a well-worn bench she did rest
A tattered, old book pressed firmly to her chest
In all shades of blue she was beautifully clothed
On her finger shone a ring from her lover betrothed
To the birds she did speak as they landed quite near
In soft words she did speak to them, in soft words heard most clear
She beckoned to me as she motioned to share
Her bench so warm ‘neath the cool, Autumn air
She asked of what memories I had hoped to leave here
In this leaf-littered park near the ocean so clear
Great pain and sorrow to her I did convey
Of a loss most shattering and of a life left most gray
With an emerald stare into my soul she did peer
And she saw in my heart her very greatest of fears
Of her dear loving husband to me she did speak
Who had left her quite frail, quite lost and quite weak
Of a war she did speak and of a draft most unfair
Of men sent away and of women left unaware
She then spoke to me of a summer most grave
When soldiers had come to tell her of a man most brave
My hand she touched and she smiled so sweet
Many miles she expressed were left for my feet
She told me that the walk of was life so long
She told me that she saw in me a will most strong
I inquired of her what life she had led
I inquired of her what man she had wed
Long after her love had been lost in the war
Some semblance of hope from her I did rightly implore
She looked away and her smile did solemnly fade
To the lonely pier her deep, verdant gaze did stray
She told me of her darkest of days
When her love was lost and to rest he was laid
Of her last of days to me she did regretfully tell
When her life was a curse and her heart was impaled
To the lonely pier she did go one late Autumn night
And into an ocean of sadness her soul did take flight
I looked to the pier, then back to her I did turn
The bench was now empty and the wind no longer did stir
Save the worn book which in old leather ’twas bound
There was no sign of the woman to ever be found
