The Widow Aunt

The widow wakes on her side of the bed.
Then she remembers.
Smiling softly to herself,
She luxuriates in her aloneness.

She'll get up soon, make her bed,
Wander out to her garden.
Smell the roses, pick an armload of sweet peas for her dining table.
No hurry.

She will feed her cat, and boil water to make her coffee,
Looking out her kitchen window,
The spring fields dazzling emerald green,
Thriving in the mild, fresh air.

She plans her day;
None too busy, none too idle.
Crying softly, tears of sorrow,
The other life she once led, slowly fading away.