A song once sung is forgotten by her,
In the endless nights of waiting,
A tune that was the closest to her heart,
Haunts her in her days of lamenting.
The broken mug that once served coffee,
Lays wasted behind its broken siblings,
As the taste, once captivating, is now slowly poisoning,
Her stay in her lonely place of dwelling.
The walls, the curtains – all bear the smile,
And the laughter that echoed the entire day,
But now they droop down with a heavy heart,
Wiping off the tears from her face as she lays
On the cold, stone floor, looking beyond
The lurking horizon, anticipating to see the frame
Of the man she loves, of her husband, now at war,
Chanting, in an unpremeditated way, his name.
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