What the gravestone doesn't tell you |
| On the chiseled stone That numbers her life, Her name stands alone, Not Beloved, not Wife. No mention of dreams That went unfulfilled, No one to redeem, The tears that she spilled. Arms once sure and strong, Now withered, encased, Had never belonged, 'Round a husband's waist. Lips that sought a cheek To kiss, wipe a tear. Yet never employed, Unused, they lie here. A man strong and sure, Life never supplied. Her heart, chaste and pure, While beating, untried. No words inscribed, No art, no flourishes, Could e'er describe Her lifetime of wishes. The stone, white and worn, O'er time's long span. And no one to mourn, A good-hearted woman. |