~The Poet’s Poet~
The drawing room fell silent as she entered
Huddled groups glancing across at each other
All the talking had been done
The dark picture had been painted.
No one dare take their eye off the ball
A portrait of grief, misery, sadness, tears.
His spirit could be felt overpowering the room
When the mist settles all will be revealed.
Was turning the house into a shrine the way to go
They had been married forty five years
One as eccentric as the other
Placing the wreath upon the door
They exited, her hand placed lightly on the casket
“He stopped loving her today” echoing throughout the rambling mansion.
© Chris Black. March 2019