Ferdinand L Quintos
You still live, he is now dead,
you were born late, he came ahead,
you tied the knot, you used your head,
your chance to leave a poor man’s bread.
You lived in ease, lucky indeed,
able to buy more than you need,
did not care he left you no seed,
you bared no signs your heart did bleed.
His grave now hid under thick weed,
remembrance call you do not heed,
happy you feel you are now freed,
enjoy what’s left is now your creed.
Even the date his life ended
in your mind now vaguely noted,
if not in oblivion buried
like his body now all decayed.
The time when cold nights started
you may not have felt in your bed
for it you have long deserted,
sought comfort in forbidden shed.
©FLQ March 17,2014
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Comments about this poem (The Widow by Ferdinand L Quintos )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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