She’s lived alone for many years
Since her dear husband died.
She long ago ceased shedding tears,
But she still aches inside.
She cleans and dusts and polishes
And mops the kitchen floor,
But doesn’t touch the dusty shoes
Beside the kitchen door.
They’ve been there since he came in from
The garden on that day,
But fate decreed that he would never
Put his shoes away.
As time passed by, in loneliness,
She parted — one by one —
With personal belongings
Until almost all were gone.
She’s found her single role in life,
But doesn’t care to lose
The comforting assurance of
That pair of dusty shoes.