Sonnet for an Old Lady, Scott Cooper

An old lady walks down the street,

Bending on her walker, shuffling her feet.

She does not think what the epitaph will say or

Just how long she has to write one.

She does not dream of a spring day and the

Scent of the carnations and the

Shine of the black box and the

Smooth of the satin lining.

She forgets her investments and the

Ache of her only husband; instead, she

Pulls the hood of her raincoat over thin and white hair,

Inch by inch by fragile fingers at the first tap of rain.

At the end of the block she turns around and

Aims herself towards home.

 

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