The Widow, By Breanna McCarty-Scott
post-template-default,single,single-post,postid-15268,single-format-standard,theme-bridge,bridge-core-2.7.0,everest-forms-no-js,woocommerce-no-js,qode-page-transition-enabled,ajax_fade,page_not_loaded,,qode-title-hidden,columns-4,qode-theme-ver-25.5,qode-theme-bridge,disabled_footer_bottom,qode_header_in_grid,wpb-js-composer js-comp-ver-6.6.0,vc_responsive,elementor-default,elementor-kit-15238

The Widow, By Breanna McCarty-Scott

The breath of spring

births blossoms and young love.

A thief of frost:

she tongues each valley

and kisses lips of dandelions.


Watching is the weakened widow

who spies upon the mating birds.

The blood-red berries,

succulent and bare, 

are plucked off one by one.


The lovers prance outside her home 

lungs bathing in the lilac scent.

They dance with lithe and elegance,

filled with pleasure,

and the richness of youth.


Their watcher smiles

with quiet envy:

Oh, disillusioned love! 

Entranced by beauty,

feasts on the scene,

till she is foaming from the mouth.