An Old Woman In Ruins

She survived the conflagration that devastated her home town, my elderly friend. She can't leave as she has no one to take her away. So she walks and remembers. I think of her. I worry about her.

When Greenville burned, she was not alone in her suffering and loss. But in my mind I see her walking alone. An old woman in ruins.

In ember's arms, an old sage wanders,
Through scarred remnants, where memory squanders,
Her silver hair whispers tales to the breeze,
Of quiet alleys and rustling trees.

Fingers trace stories on burnt, ashen beams,
Gaze lingering where sunrise once gleamed,
Now in the twilight, with grace she does tread,
Among whispers of bricks and the ghosts that have fled.

Each step is a sonnet, a kiss to the past,
A dance with the spectres, in shadows cast,
She waltzes with echoes, in silence, she sways,
A ballet of memory in the twilight's haze.

Through the remnants of time, with the grace of a queen,
She walks with the ghosts in a world unseen,
With a sigh she bestows life to old, golden days,
In the ruins, in the ruins, the old woman prays.

In whispering ashes, now the old woman sings,
A hymn of resilience, as a new dawn begins,
In the heart of the ruins, where past meets the now,
She honors her hometown, with a reverent bow.