.

She was sitting there, by the window,

Her face sullen, full of sorrow,

Such a young face, yet a widow,

For her, no today, no tomorrow;

Suddenly the wagons began to rumble

And as the wheels began to roll

She felt the strain, she felt the toll,

Oh if they could hear her heart crumble,

The fated train rocked on away

And she let its slow rhythm sway

Her wounded soul, lull her spirit to rest;

The sky had long cleared of the smoke

When the landscape faded and the yoke

Melted in a salted flood on the old leather vest.

.

The peace of the weary is no rest.