The Widow’s Lament

By Thomas Miller

In the small hours before the dawn,A widow weeps, her love long gone.She clings to a photo, worn and frayed,Of the life they shared, now decayed.

Her tears fall silent, like autumn rain,A steady stream of endless pain.She speaks his name, a whispered plea,But only the night returns her plea.

The bed they shared now cold and bare,A space where once love filled the air.She lies alone, her heart a stone,In a house that no longer feels like home.

Yet every night, she dreams him near,His voice a ghost she longs to hear.But when she wakes, the truth is clear—He’s gone, and she’s left with only her fear.