Email Poem

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Poem

I opened the old broken gate,
And strolled up the overgrown garden path,
It was the end of winter, still chilly
My car had broken down; I do not have a mobile phone.
So I was hoping the owner of the little cottage
would have a phone that I could use to phone a garage.

Everything about the little cottage
was severely in need of renovation.
It looked sad and unloved.
I knocked on the door gingerly,
I was feeling very vulnerable and unsure of myself.

I knocked several times, no answer,
Then the door slowly opened,
Inviting me to enter
It was shabby and dark inside the cottage,
Except for a ray of light shining onto a rickety old table,
On the table, a pristine jam jar full of fresh wildflowers stood,

Its presence took away the squalor of the room,
And gave an atmosphere of tranquility
I was mesmerised by the feeling of peace
and calm I felt since I entered this room.
Then I saw her, a wizened old lady,
Sitting in her worn-out old armchair,

Her eyes were closed; She looked comfortable and relaxed.
On her lap, she had a framed photo of an airman.
Her hands were still holding the picture,
Time seems to be standing still.
I was suddenly aware of a clock ticking.
And the ringing of her telephone.

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