Spinster

This house is empty
I’m alone
This room holds all I have from home.
That portrait hung upon the wall,
Above the fire that gives no warmth,
Has been there half a century now
It’s darkened varnish gathers dust
I don’t know how my time has passed
I sat alone, content to wait
I thought he would return at last
I trusted fate
He had no fear
War makes young men disappear

One thought on “Spinster

  1. Having survived 6 combat missions with my sons (thankfully they both made it home) your poem struck a chord with me. That old cold familiar dread. Very sad.

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