She sits at the window
Watching life unfold before her eyes
The seasons come and then go
As the hope within slowly dies.
The burden she has carried
For so many long, long years
Ensures that affection will not tarry
Love shall never be given here.
Never good enough for long lasting
She sits and watches through the tears
As she counts the years now passing
She will remain at the window, right here.
Weaver of dreams in the night
Wisher of silent yearnings
Hopeful that the right one just might
Look up and set her heart singing.
Yet the song remains unsung
The dreams lie in tatters
For all hope is at last done
In all her life she never mattered.
And she sits at the window. . .