Old Widow's Song

Waves of nostalgia,
She is the sand of the sea.
The travelers they walk,
And find their feet buried.

The waves, she feels each crash.
Then she feels them recede.
Sometimes, she feels so lost.
Sometimes, she feels at ease.

A song on a station,
And she knows years have passed.
She remembers each word,
History streches vast.

A song on a record,
In her house under dust.
Hidden for a reason,
A reason that is just.

A sad woman crying,
In her empty beach house.
With photos on her wall,
She thinks in tone of doubt.

Will she be remembered,
When her time comes around?
Will she find her love,
Six feet under the ground?

And old oak tree fallen.
A tree that meant a lot,
Where the two had first met,
In summer days so hot.

It is then digested,
In the fresh, moistened earth.
And flowers sprout from bark,
As wisdom sprouts from hurt.

The high tide leaves its mark.
The song soon closes soft.
The widow cries alone.
The once-tall tree will rot.

And on, life will still go.
This is how it has been.
The blackened rot of life,
Will grow the earth more green.