The old log cabin in the woods,
half hidden by the evergreens,
a cozy home once filled with hope,
was now a box of broken dreams.
A tired body, tired mind,
and lonely heart was all she had.
The man who once had thrilled her so
had now become just one more chore
with clothes to clean
and mouth to feed
and wounds to dress
and nothing more
It hurt her more than she could say
to lose all caring thoughts and deeds.
Her love for him had blazed the trail
that was now overgrown with weeds.
And in the twilight of their lives,
their magic youth, a memory,
they scarcely spoke; they never loved,
so different now from years before . . .
Just vacant stares,
and empty thoughts
and saddened looks
and nothing more
And when his final time had come,
his life at last had reached its end,
with quiet graveside spoken words
and several tears from several friends,
she briefly cried remembering
some pleasant times when they’d been young.
But later all that she could feel,
while gazing from the cabin door,
was some small loss,
a few regrets,
a little pain,
and nothing mo
She never left that wooded hut
but lived her life in sad retreat
with cat and dog and evergreens
and wild birds singing her to sleep.
Her passing was unheralded
the way most of her life had been;
a simple grave beside her man
became her final resting place.
They spoke of when she had been found
upon the hard cold cottage floor -
her face at peace
and on her lips,
a tiny smile
and nothing more