Abigail 1851 - 1873 Poem by James W. Spain

I first saw
the Victorian woman

faintly through the century old glass
while admiring my home from afar.

The house dates back
to the birth of our nation.

She visits me sometimes
and always without notice.

A faint washed out image
with stoic Victorian features

always in a black mourning dress,
common for that era of time.

A warm, peaceful and comforting feeling
comes to me with each of her visits.

I somehow know her name
to be Abigail…