Young Widow

Her heart was strong in noontide's lifted sun,
For there were household tasks that need be done,
To keep her from too clear remembering.
I saw her happy, once, and heard her sing,
While polishing her fragile cut-glass set,
And knew that brilliant noon made her forget.
But twilight's softened tones were snare for grief.
There was a wistfulness beyond belief
In her slight figure drooping on the step,
While dusk's enfolding shadows gently crept.
As lovers' footfalls echoed up the lane,
Her heart cried out in loneliness and pain.