Well you play the widow, new poem?

Well you play the widow

Mourning in black wool cloak.

Slipping by, a tear at your eye,

Under a shrouded of grief smoke.



Well you play the widow,

Bare wrist clutching your chest.

Graciously welcoming the funeral flowers

Of which you detest.



Well you play the widow,

Running his comb through your hair.

Waiting, sorrowed, quietly,

In your lonely rocking chair.



Well you play the widow,

Turning your face to the sun.

Grey curled tendrils coming loose

From a weathered bun.



Well you play the widow,

Clinging to stone walled shadow.

Wine-lipped frown etched

Into high cheekbones, shallow.



Well you play the widow,

Writing the eulogy.

Poetic, heroic, a hardworking man,

A man whose heart is now free.
Well you play the widow, new poem?
Excellent. Wonderful tight structure, very effective rhyming pattern. And above all, great content, which is open to a variety of interpretations, including yours and mine. One correction - on the 4th line - it should be "shroud."
Reply:that's very good..

my WWI poem was going to repeat but i decided against it.



the imagery created especially is marvellous.

congrats on this poem.

xx
Reply:how interesting! i like it...when i die...i would be clutching my note book...where i write my poetry....