It's All In the Timing

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.