Melinda McCafferty
by Andrea M. Newton
Melinda sits at the front window,
waits patient for love to come back,
to ride the path on his swift, white steed --
he is the only thing that she lacks.
When roses bloomed in May's soft sun,
he went to fight the war.
She begged him stay, but with a kiss,
he left her at the door.
Through May's sweet breezes, cool at night,
she awaited his return.
She cursed the English knaves he fought;
her Irish blood did churn.
From June to August, all so hot,
she watched grass scorched deadly brown.
But still no day brought her love back,
nor news to any town.
And when the leaves turned red and gold,
fell, edges rimmed with frost,
to frozen ground swollen white with snow,
she feared his death war's cost.
"Oh, God in Heaven," she brokenly cried,
"bring my love safely to me!
If you can hear me, gentle God,
please show my heart mercy."
April's days gave way to May,
whose sun chased chill from earth,
and roses bloomed a tender red
as Winter deigned their birth.
The warmth brought then a tired man,
gauntly thin and bearded.
His uniform an dreaded omen,
and Melinda, knowing, feared it.
He handed her a silver locket,
a heart on a thin, silver chain.
Inside was her love, and inscribed
were the words, "Our love will always remain."
Melinda held the locket hard tight,
sank to her seat in fresh tears.
"I'll leave my seat for only the door
when his steps on the cobble I hear."
"Miss Melinda, he died in a ghastly fierce fight,"
the tired soldier wearily said.
She turned to him them with wide, staring eyes,
"Surely you can't think he's dead?"
"Miss Melinda, I buried him with my own hands,
and my tears fell freely," he said.
"No," she brokenly shook her young head,
"I will not believe that he's dead!"
"He'll come to me soon, I know that he will!
And, until he does, I'll not move!
Bring no water; my tears will suffice,
and I have no taste for food."
So she would not eat, nor drink, nor sleep,
but waited day and night,
stared out the window every moment,
praying for his sight.
Within the week, the soldier saw her
point past with quickened breath.
"Look!" she cried. "My true love comes!
You spoke too soon his death!"
Her head fell back in rushing curls,
and her arms dropped to her sides.
The silver locket hit the floor,
her breath softened once, then died.
Oh, Melinda sits at the front window,
but if love came, she never would heed,
for she has gone on the wings of death,
follows only where angels can lead.
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