Galadriel

She Called His Name

In her sleep, she called his name
Him, gone these years and ten,
The frost glinted upon the windowpane
So cold, this world of women, and of men.
His name echoed through the rooms,
It caressed the table and the wooden chairs,
The ticking clock, the empty shower
The familiar sofa, and the silent stairs.

In that moment the house was alive,
Alive, with the laughter , and the tears,
The noise of living and the pain of loss
The cycle of life, through all of these years.

His name, forever, in this home
Like bricks and mortar, cement and stone,
Ingrained within the very wood,
Never forgotten, as if she could.

When she awoke the dream had passed,
The silence rushed in, once again
The frost rimed upon the window pane,
Yes, so very cold, this world of women,
And of men.

For Galadriel.