She, sat by the window
Threads of pink and blue strewn across the table
Drooping, pooling around her feet
Her eyes sees a distant meadow covered with beautiful spring blooms
She smiles, her eyes glimmers, a sense of hope arise
Her urge to reach the meadow grows
longing to caress the new born flower spills
But to her dismay, what she saw was just a mirage
Back to reality, she remembers
That within her, there is nothing but eternal winter
A womb that won't breathe life
A womb where no seed will take root
Truth, that cannot be undone
Now she weeps
Melancholic cloud hovers over her as she grasps for air
Dragging along any hope of a child bearing
Her face
Her likeness
Her truth, causing pain acute
What remains she thinks
Either to tend the barren land
Overlooking the sea of emptiness
Or
Tend to her man
For the eternal winter have made the man distant
He craves to leave the winter to forage
For a land that is fertile
For a blood that is his own
For a life that will continue the legacy his ancestors bore