Through the window

Through the small rectangular window

That lay at the end of my hall

I would watch with such fascination

A world that was not mine to see

Out of the four glass panes

I would gaze onto the glossy green

And watch the silver haired lady

Sitting on the wooden seat alone

I wondered if she was waiting

And who she was waiting for

Or if she simply counted the days

And how many had slipped her by

And though she was not always there

She never seemed to move

And some years later it came to my surprise

The house was empty and had been for long time

 


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