A War Widow

Adown the streets of the town the winds of Winter blow And the weather it is chilly and cold enough to snow And old Joan is out walking a black rain coat she wear But she does not have a hat on the wind tosses her gray hair. Old Joan in her mid eighties she is one of the few War widows to be living from long gone World war 2 Her husband in a mass grave is buried near where he fell And to anyone prepared to listen to her his story she will tell. She came and sat near me in the cafe a couple of weeks ago And she told me of the story of her young soldier husband Joe His life ended in Europe in nineteen forty one When she was twenty one years old and carrying Joe their son. She never did remarry the hard life she has known And her son now in his sixties has grandchildren of his own She has had to work hard to survive and she grows old in her one room flat The only companion she has her ginger tabby cat. Her young husband died in world war 2 in Europe far away And Joan remained as a widow and as a widow she will stay Until the Reaper takes her whenever that will be She is one of the old dears of our street and one I often see.