Andromache

by Bitter Irony

She walked beneath the broken sky.

The air was close, no clouds came by,

and no tears ever seemed to dry

upon that barren hill:

I’d never seen so cold a face,

so soft a pose, such shattered grace,

such sadness clinging to a place

where she awaits him still.

Her trailing gown was bridal white,

her skin was pale, her face was bright,

her eyes were wide and black as night--

a hood concealed her hair:

She was a soul in bitter pain.

She’d loved what could not long remain.

She waited long, and all in vain,

for love to find her there.

Leave her beneath that broken sky

where air is close, no clouds come by;

where no tears ever seem to dry

upon that barren hill.

You’ve no need to see that face,

that haughty pose, that broken grace,

that sadness clinging to that place

where every heart stands still .