The Martyr’s Widow

Zephyred evenings, snowy breeze,
cups of coffee, woolen squeeze,
caressed rim, slurping sips,
sunless mornings and clenched fists
so many winters witnessed us together
clicked our dalliance taped your promises
but a winter would come hard of belief
snatching all my happiness left me bereaved
one day you set off promising another winter
and returned in a coffin with pride no lesser
the pride of your sacrifice turned the zephyr
and my winters remained snowless forever
my hair turned grey with your memory relics
and few lifeless frames on the mantelpiece
I grew old with pride yet with a shadow
of never being called ‘the martyr’s widow’

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