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The Woman in the Window
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Compassion and Empathy She never knew she had choices.
Once James took her to the town dance,
she, in her house dress of flat muslin
and best shoes.
The men thumped their canes,
the women were aghast.
Most of the time she sits by the window,
watching white clouds drifting by the trees,
remembering days so long ago with
James, when they were young.
Her fingers are stained from the berries,
and dried from the sun, her eyes barely see.
The spinning wheel in the corner is still,
the churn clean.
Her one sweet treasure is the small bouquet of
wildflowers she planted near the window,
the ones James gave her the day before
he died.
