by Karen J. Fox

Fifty years I’ve walked past,
pretending not to notice you.
Turning my head to study the moon
or the blazing maple
that talks with its leaves in the wind.

Fifty years you have
watched as I pass.
Wearing my sorrow like jewels,
a soft shawl held tight to my body,
hiding the need that I show no one.

Fifty years I have been witness
to your changing demeanor.
One hundred years you’ve
stood as silent witness as
other like me
have passed.

Karen has been an off-and-on writer for most of her life. Published in several small publications and included in “The First Anthology of Missouri Women Writers” she spends most of her time lost in her own world where everyone know & understands her.