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Saturday, 15-Apr-2000 16:34:12
There is a figure on the widow's walk.
She paces to and fro, searching the horizon.
Scanning the dark waters, looking for a light.
A cold wind blows in off the Atlantic.
She draws her shawl tightly around her shoulders.
It seems like forever since she has
seen her love. The ship should have been back by now.
She paces from one end of the walk to the other.
Every night it's the same, pace and stare and pace some more.
A tear rolls down her cheek as she fights back
the terrible thought that keeps trying to
She paces again, stops and curses into the darkness.
She thinks back to the last time they were together.
They made love on the beach
underneath the stars. She felt so safe and warm then.
Now she is cold, lonely and frightened.
Dawn is breaking and no sign of her love. She
climbs down from the widow's walk and
goes down into the house.
She passes by the children having breakfast.
They don't notice her, they never do.
It's been this way for 200 years.
Searching for a love that is never coming back.
Another ghost from the graveyard of the Atlantic.
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