A poem. By me. 13/08.1983

By her dwindling fire

the old woman sat,

so cold, she must wear her coat and her hat,

But this fire must last,

for she has no more coal,

two days since she's eaten,

the poor, old, soul!

Her husband is dead,

her last living friend,

and now, in poverty,

her days she must end.

Her children have left her

and they care no more,

it's weeks since she heard

a knock on the door.

And, as the fire dwindled,

the old woman cried,

with the last light of evening,

the fire,

and she,

died.

Written when living in Sunderland. An old lady had been found frozen to death in her flat. There was no food in the cupboards and she had no money in her purse. She died lonely. 30 years and very little has changed. RIP old lady.