The Widow Of The Bard

A raging relic, he left behind
Who breathed his last, on a day of fall
A rosary, in his psalm, entwined
Beyond his labors, she was his all!

She clenched on, to his, soul’s remains
Yellowing shards, of pain, despair…
“Would you buy, his sins, my being’s banes
Huh! A maestro’s misery, brazenly laid bare!”

The publisher, browsed thru, the dead man’s flair
And then the, splendor, of his muse
“Still throbs, his heart, in a sin debonair
I’ll ‘keep’ you, for his, spent virtues!”

A zephyr strewed, his sacraments
Whistling past, the graveyard
A blissful, ‘keep’ blooms, yet repents
Lost legacy, of The Widow Of The Bard!

© 2018 Vikas Chandra

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