Shadow Woman

Wrapped in a shawl
From the sun or the cold,
She shuffles along,
The essence of old.
Worn shoes scuff her path
With the aid of a cane.
Hunch backed and poor
No one knows her name.

Her mate now long gone,
A life spent in sorrow.
The children don’t call,
It’s an empty tomorrow.
The days that remain,
End in nights spent alone.
No friends come around
And no chats on the phone.

I wonder sometimes,
As I see her pass by.
Would I so endure?
Or just give up and die?
As she slips out of sight
I conclude with a sigh…
The golden years are
One hell of a lie.

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