A Widow of Substance

Stooped and alone, standing beside the creek,
Ermine around her shoulders, keeps off chill.
Or to lock in a hard heart that beats and leaks
heartache so pure she has made out her will.

Married for money, he had other plans,
Her scheming now a horrible defeat.
The mansion she desired is her hangman
Trapped inside its walls, rotting like bad meat.

She was nineteen when she wed the old one,
He was almost gone they said, one and all.
She could live with the drooling old dragon
These few days, then there'd be a rich windfall.

She stood on the bank of rushing water,
Years later, her youth gone and she felt old.
As her failing health left her feeling blue,
He supped from her frailty, got strong and bold.

He should be dead, but refused the last breath
As matter of fact he was strong as steel.
Each night he demanded the marriage bed,
This was not meant to be part of the deal.

Her plan fell apart, life was filled with pain,
Because as she grew older day by day;
He found his youthful vigor and was vain
Made each day a licentious ballet.

Her pining heart was surpassed by selfish
Pity her plot to be queen over his manor,
Was a nightmare served in a chafing dish,
Spreading into her soul like a cancer.

Putrid flesh, brimstone breath of the old one,
Pawed and fondled her and took her each night.
She prayed death by her hands, maybe a gun.
Will there be no respite for her sad plight?

The end, she clasped the ermine at her throat,
Shed a lone tear at unfulfilled romance.
Pockets with rocks, she hoped she wouldn't float,
Leaving him a widower of substance.

©February 12. 2017 / Jerry Pat Bolton