In the realm of verses, a poet true,
No office sought, no statesmen he’d woo.
His pain etched on paper, a common strife,
Freedom’s hands he kissed, embracing life.

Beside him stood a woman, a guiding cane,
Obedient to his words, in his shadow she’d remain.
She witnessed his pen weave poetic theme,
Listening closely when his verses would stream.

A year has passed since the poet’s farewell,
No anticipation of joy, in his eyes rebellion swelled.
Grateful to God, he embraced the final call,
Leaving behind echoes of poetic thrall.

Silence shrouds the poet’s cherished mate,
No news emerges, the rented house’s fate.
Perhaps she wanders in distant lands,
Seeking solace, where happiness withstands.

If on a street, her presence I’d meet,
A question would spring, words discreet:
“O poet’s last wife, in life’s quiet abode,
Is it easy without the poet’s poetic code?”

A woman, an encouragement to the poet’s rhyme,
Where is she now, lost in the sands of time?
In the poet’s demise, does his beloved wane?
A mystery lingering, in sorrow and refrain.