Winter

This is the winter of my life.
Flowers of my husband's love
have wilted and died,
blown away by the harsh gales
of an unforgiving wind.

The snowy path before me
only winds uphill,
with no pot of gold
at the end of my wishful rainbow.

Leaves of decisions
turn a cruel black,
turning their backs on me.

My only solace lies
in the morning dew on my windowpane,
reflecting a once mesmerizing image
for all the world to behold,
yet they behold no longer,
for I am fading,
fading into the light,
into the night.

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