RESIGNATION

By: Julie Duane

I sit all alone in my little brown room

And the wind blows cold with the sound of doom

My eyes grow dim and I clutch my pride

Like a thin gray shawl round the ache inside

I sit and I wait as the fire burns low –

Will he ever come again? While the dawn breaks slow

And the small hopes die for the rattle at the door

Is the cold winds’ rap – he will come no more.