Never a wife

She stares out on the woodland rides
her dreams of life so long ago
says not a word just sits and bides
returns to scenes she used to know,
for in her head she still resides
within the hearts of many beaux.
The darling of her father's eye
no clouds to darken her blue sky.

There was a time she spoke to me
before the clouds descended low,
she clasped my hand so fervently
painted a picture and although
she's from a land beyond the sea,
I too would also come to know
she once was so much than this
her life not one I could dismiss.

My father was a wealthy man
with riches far beyond the few
so was it when my life began.
She told the story then I knew
why far beyond his reach she ran
promised to wed, her life he drew
a life of servitude unjust
promised to an old man's lust.

There then began a life of pain
such poverty she'd never known
could not her riches have again,
found all to soon the danger zone
far better to accept the swain
than try to live her life alone,
bowed begging for reprieve
knowing she'd been too naive.

He took her in but kept unwed
clothed in finery that she craved,
used to submission in his bed
reminding her of how he'd saved
from drudgery, as he spread
the girl who had become enslaved.
Viciously a settled score
never a wife always a whore.

Poetry Survivor
Ottava Rima trigger 27