'The Lady In The Window' Poem by Linda Winchell

Shes the lady in the window
her eyes in a death like, cold of stare.
What must her mind be thinking of?
And is she, even really there?

She sits all day, just staring
is she awaiting, someones return?
The sun is brightly piercing her skin
giving her eyes its suns, heat of burn.

When was it that, she came here to sit?
by the window day and night?
Has anyone ever asked her?
about why she stares, with her glaze of sight?

It's been said, she waits for nothing
and then there are some that say, she does.
I guess I will never understand, this lady in the window
Why she just sits and stares, just because.