by Theresa Lovelace
That old white-haired lady
She sits there
in that old aged chair,
The one with stains of her mistakes
and traces of her misfortune.
She gazes out her window,
the clouded one
That hides her pain and masks her fear.
As she hums a familiar melody
that soothes her soul
and quiets her restless heart,
She's reminded of days gone by.
That old white-haired lady.
She holds on to a yellow hankerchief
filled with memories and drenched with tears
of happiness and sorrow.
That old white-haired lady
She gazes out her window
And still hopes.
