SuziCate's Musings

When She Speaks

The farmhand chatters

about plowing and planting

while her brittle bones speak

of low pressure and impending rain

Silently, she listens to chaos

of words, echoes, chanting

Her heart, left lonely, aches

with memories of love, loss, and pain

 

When she speaks,

her words are few but precise,

though she leaves nothing unsaid

She speaks,

with certainty words will suffice

and sustain after she is dead

 

At night she rocks and sings

to her children long since grown

She stares into the night,

wishing she could go back in years

Husband of yesteryear promises

not much longer will she be alone

Speechless, she patiently waits,

hope soothing away her tears

 

When she speaks,

her words are few but precise,

though she leaves nothing unsaid

She speaks,

with certainty words will suffice

and sustain after she is dead

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Comments on: "When She Speaks" (6)

  1. When you explain who “she” is, I can male allisions of appreciation, but she can be many things. One should never solicit the poet’s intent. The reader must find value for herself. But this time I need help then everything will fall into play from that point. She?

  2. wolfsrosebud said:

    Lovely…

  3. a very sad but extremely beautifully crafted poem. the loneliness of old age is too painful. 😦

    they should not be left alone!

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