Adelaide Shaw

Widowhood

I write poems of loss and loneliness, of dull days with no ambition to move, knowing that I must.

bare maple
the wind toss of golden leaves
sticks on wet ground

There are times the pain fades and I rise to the occasion with a smile or a laugh and suppress a tinge of guilt. There are times I want to run away, someplace, anyplace.

puddles and pools
fill the low ground—
migrating geese

Today I walk the woods, following familiar trails.

autumn leaves
pressed between pages
times past