her own life

it wasn't a memory i wished to save
the crying lady folded in anguish
praying over an old man's grave
her sullen face and even sadder hat
i took a closer look
and then i sat
by her side there was a pretty basket of just-picked flowers
i watched her countenance for hours
she reminded me of someone i thought i once knew
and while her face looked familiar i didn't quite know who
she was until i heard her speak to the memory in the hole
she had such a gentle soul
soft light brown hair
i wondered how much longer she'd stay there
looking at me before she felt sufficiently free
enough to carry forward with her own life.