perched high where
the conjugal voices
of ghosts ride on
private blown breezes
and silent-borne dialogue
communicates news
of the living and dead
oaken balustrades
fashioned by
fisherman hands
on hiatus between
harpoon harvests
far off in the deeps
where somewhere
his bones
one day sank
to his peace
and she felt it
the moment it happened
a chill shook
the middle of her
as she climbed
straight and stoic
right up to the walk
to confirm what she knew
in her heart
now she smiles
through her tears
at the joy and the grief
of the presence of him
every evening
on high in her own
much beloved
private breeze
Beautiful!
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thanks, Ellen
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Great!
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thank you kindly, len
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very touching, and hopeful, I love that she’s content with her breeze!! 🙂
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thanks kindly, DuBois
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Oh I LOVE this one, Paul. I’ve long been enamored of the “widow’s walk” stories….romance and grief paired, there’s nothing like it for me.
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me too
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Wonderful
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thanks kindly, Rick
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Paul I am moved, this is wonderful. Thank you for sharing this, sir. You inspire me, Mr Lenzi, I feel blessed to have discovered your poetry. Please allow me to reblog, best wishes from Baldy
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I deeply appreciate your generous comments – thank you for sharing my poem with your readers
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Pingback: Widow’s Walk | Baldypoems
Reblogged this on Poesy plus Polemics.
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The story teller; the sage. A magical piece.
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a story ingrained in our New England saga
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Reblogged this on OUR POETRY CORNER.
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thank you for sharing my poem with your readers
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Lovely and touching.
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thanks kindly, willow
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This is one of my fave’s.
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it’s part of New England’s history
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So touching. Sadness, love, grief and hope conveyed so beautifully.
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thanks kindly, Melanie
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