Broken Panes
Broken Panes
Through broken panes in window sash
remnants of lace flap in the wind
she hung with care in years gone by
the only softness she saw then
Once in a while she'd go into
the parlour and look out the bay
through lace that softened cliffs and waves
and she would dream of gentler days
But she was where she had been born
and would be for the rest of days
Until she was borne on the hill
that looked across the windswept bay
And so it was she spent her life
there in the cove, and hungered for
A softer, gentler, time and place
than what was there outside her door
The old house now leans with the wind
still standing years beyond its time
The windows stare like dimming eyes
the lace in tatters, the only sign
That she was here, three score and ten
and that was many years ago
And on the hill the stones too lean
through snowy days when wind blows cold
Wayne Taylor
Bonavista, NL
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