The Widow's Walk
The sea captain's weathered house still stands above the shore.
'Tis said that the old place is a century old or more.
Its long-shuttered windows face out t'ward the restless sea.
From the widow's walk his bride yet makes her mournful plea!
On dark and stormy nights 'tis said she can still be seen,
As she haunts the widow's walk acting out a spectral scene.
Her plaintive plea is heard e'en above the shrieking gale:
"Hurry home to me my love!" as she espies a distant sail!
'Tis said she lights a lantern to guide her lover home,
As he steers 'mongst the treacherous shoals and roiling foam.
Her heart is aflutter anticipating his arms and tender kiss,
Praying that this be his final cruise to e'er enjoy eternal bliss.
A phantom ship is seen to founder, according to local lore!
A sorrowful moan is heard e'en above the ocean's roar!
Alas, the ship sank 'neath the waves in the tempest tossed!
When ecstasy seemed within her grasp, all the souls were lost.
And e'en today in this supposed enlightened age,
The widows walk is transformed into an eerie stage,
Where, e'er young, faithful still, sobbing soft and low,
A sorrowful wraith awaits his coming, her true love to bestow!
Robert L. Hinshaw served 30 years in the Air Force retiring in 1978 in the grade of Chief Master Sergeant. He began writing poetry in 2002 at age 72 and has composed over 1100 poems.