She walks

Head bowed, she walks, watching each step,

Shoulders bent with fear, and with pain

Of that she knows, that she cannot forget,

The love that cannot speak its name.

Her life is a prison, her marriage the bars,

Each day, grey burdened, is more of the same

Each fleeting glimpse of far distant stars

Cries the love that cannot speak its name.

Concrete streets and red brick walls

Cast back her hopes in ceaseless, weary game

Her longing echoed in seagull calls

For the love that cannot speak its name.

One day her pain may overflow

And her world then light with searing flame

Then fast her fledgling wings unfold

And the love at last may speak its name.

(c) 2nd witch 30/08/09