She measures her time in memories
and through the lines on her face.
She waits for him impatiently
As if frustration could quicken his pace.
 
They are not strangers, she knows him well
He has danced through her parlour
Many times before.
He has danced for mothers, fathers, friends
He danced for her husband, whose hand she held
until the dance reached its bitter end.
 
She begged him many times to dance for her
to take her hand in his and lead a solemn waltz
but he never even knew she was there.
He danced his grim fandango through her life
breaking hearts, wrecking lives; his feet would never halt
as the requiem played and her life string frayed.
 
So now she waits for him impatiently
and for her own dance to begin;
and as he appears at her window
She stands and smoothes her skirt.
The requiem builds again,
the dancers clasp hands.
Her last waltz.