There at a Lone Table

There at a lone table she sat all night,

being domineered by man's collective might,

although all day she tried to fight,

she was left with her cruel husband and a foul plight.

There at a lone table she sat all night,

thinking of how to escape poverty's plight,

for no human should be such a slave,

as her husband was a craven knave.

There at a lone table she sat all night,

staring around at a cobbled street going left and right,

she stared down into the grinds of a coffee cup,

for it was her only dinner and sup.

There at a lone table she sat alone all night,

suffering negligence, and turning wan and white,

affecting her comeliness, she received less

she turned into a disheveled mess.

There at a lone table she sat all night,

for she dealt with beatings and man's might,

she was the innocent, coerced to do wrong,

she was a mockingbird, shot for her song.

There at a lone table she sat all night,

there at the table she knew to end her plight.

She took the knife and led it to her heart,

it pierced through her heart the accursed metal dart.

There at a lone table she had sat all night,

there she had escaped her husband's cruel might.

There her soul was at peace and rest,

what a tragic sight of a good woman, nothing less.

There at a lone table she had sat all night.