You could see her
Even on misty mornings
Waiting at the top of the hill
Melancholy figure, standing still
Oblivious of slander or censure
Immersed in her own beliefs
She moved up and down
Never did she come to the town
People shook their heads in distress
Counted her among the dead
How could she fall for the bait?
How long would she wait?
She knew that dawn so well
Coruscating rays welcomed them
Mist was nowhere to be seen
Could she ever forget the scene?
Promises of peace went awry
Misty message stood before her
Yet hope lingered at the corners
Drifting away from the mourners.
© Balroop Singh, August 2018
Thanks to Sue Vincent for an inspiring Thursday photo prompt #Watcher
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