Her days of housework are over.
She has to live with the dust.
She would say to me, “Come on over.
You’re the only one I trust”
Her days of not cleaning the windows
Scar the incoming sun.
A curtain flaps
Where its hook unwraps.
The repair has not been done.
Her days of action suspended.
She sits upright in her chair.
An old lady I’ve befriended.
She refuses to go into care.
There are many old people
Liviing in isolation.
What they really need is
Lively conversation.
She is deaf. Her eyesight is poor.
She is aged ninety three.
Nothing happens anymore.
She’s content just to rest and be.
There’s a splendid view from her home.
East London spreads out below.
You can clearly see the Dome
Lit up in the sky’s rosy glow.
Reader, pause for a while.
Say a prayer for such as she.
I can still see her bravely smile
As she waves goodbye to me.