A widow’s ember

A poem composed by Darcy (Year 11 Advanced English)

A fallen ember ricochets across the snowed over concrete.

Its path laid bare, seen only within the now carved walkway adjacent to the road.

The ploughed snow piled neatly to its left.

It dances down alleys

Branches over benches

Ignores pleading gypsy.

Steadily.

I follow.

Its resting place is similar to that of others.

A necropolis, barren, and dry.

Against the side of a separate headstone, I see a woman.

She clutches a bouquet of flowers, an assortment.

Kneeling, she sobs.

Her tears are revitalising, shedding life onto bare stone.

The headstone is almost indecipherable.

The name, smudged.

But the epitaph.

“Fallen angel.”

She's a widow.

I begin to understand, to reciprocate.

From afar, I observe her tears, each one hitting the concrete with enough force to shake the entire field.

One.

Two.

Three.

I pity her sorrow.

It may be, that one day, she may join her beloved, high beyond the greyed sky above.

Perhaps, when the time comes, an angel will drop an ember.

An ember to fall.

To fall in winter.

To ricochet along that same concrete pathway, covered in snow.

To follow, through allies, over benches, across gypsy.

For me to find.

For me to mourn.