The Widower

He could still hear her laughter

resounding like a million flickering butterflies in the air-

the scent of her perfume swaying into the

windchime on the porch in the evenings...

O Lord! How she still danced there,

O Lord! Where had she gone?

A chance once more to dance with her near,

One more time to carress the grace of her neck-

He longed for one last chance to rest beside her

For one last chance to have her at her best.

O Lord! How she still danced there,

O Lord! Where had she gone?

And this was the song of the Widower.