The Widows of Impeccant Love

A house is standing on a hill
with a dimly-lit up light
And inside the house upon the hill
lives a hideous delight

The summer sun is setting in
around the wooden frame.
As widows raise the fallen arcs
and call the virtuous by name.

The virtuous speak in calming rhymes
as they travel to the call
And the widows, they just fall in line,
devoted to it all

Promenading, two-by-two,
across the garden floor,
the innocent take widowed hands
and die with them once more.

The virtuous speak loud and long
of their deep, unfailing love
and the widows use they breath they've saved
for their lovers left above.

But the virtuous stand lonely still
in a striking loss of trust
To see how they'll soon be widowed
by a lonely lover's lust