The Widow's Walk Poem by Raymond R

Upon the widow's walk, she stands alone,
In shadows cast, she waits for sails afar.
A New Bedford sailor's wife, her heart a weathered stone,
Anticipating whispers from the star.

The distant sea, a vast and boundless plain,
Where love embarked on journeys fraught with strife.
Yet on this platform, high above the main,
She lingers, pondering the end of life.

With graham flour and milk, she tended hearth,
And nurtured dreams beneath the azure dome.
Each day, a canvas woven from her worth,
Yet whispers of mortality quietly roam.

No fragile blooms of Victorian lore,
But strength, resilience in her steady stride.
She waits for ships, each one a metaphor,
As life, a voyage, drifting with the tide.

In salons, lectures, seeking truth, she yearned,
A reading revolution in her soul.
For in her heart, new knowledge brightly burned,
A quest for purpose, making her life whole.

She wore the cloak of angel, but she knew,
Beneath it beat a heart both fierce and true.
For on the widow's walk, where skies are blue,
She faced her fate, as life and death she knew.