Happy Ending

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Driving through the thick fug of widowhood
Her sun seemed without plans of rising
Days are puzzles not to be understood.
High as she forge she finds herself diving

She had tears because she had her fears
In her garden, weed and wheat are the same
But time's like a gardener with shears
He knows what to trim at precise aim

Toiling to rig holes through the heart of time
She must write on the palm of its gold scroll
Her axe is too blunt to break through the lime
Tomorrow is almost here for its toll

The ride was rough as the road was tough
She found her heaven for she rode on love

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