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. . .

~m spohn