 Into the wee hours of morning Long before the dawning, She sits in the circle of firelight Through the long winter's night. Slowly rocking to and fro Warmed by hearth's glow, She stares at the flickering flames As a painting in a blackened frame. Winds moan a haunting refrain Against frosty window panes, She tugs her shawl tightly around, Listening to the hum of wind sounds. Taking her knitting from the floor She begins her task once more, Passing the lonely night away, Just as countless yesterdays. Reflections of her troubled mind Wind slowly backward in time, Faded bits and pieces of the years Like worn photographs appear. In rhythm with the mantel clock's Tick-tock, she gently rocks. Daybreak will arrive soon To chase away the silvery moon. Perhaps she'll get a letter today, Maybe someone will stop on their way, Perhaps the silent telephone will ring. The wind howls and sings. ©Author: Kenneth Ellison 12-06-05 Guestbook Email Ken To send this page to someone |