Nan
Sewing machine, long idle, gathered dust
Absentmindedly, Jackie wrote her name
thereupon, watching as dust motes floated
upwards, caught in sunset's evening rays
Brushing away a tear, she turned around
surveying, Nan's neglected room
provoked, a vague feeling of emptiness
Psychically, Jackie, quite distinctly heard
"The war years seemed like only yesterday"
It was her Nan's voice. Jackie gasped aloud
"Nan, is that you"? "I'm sure it was your voice"
Materialising in the doorway
Was, the slight figure of her darling Nan
Dressed for bed carrying a lit candle
Aghast, Jackie stood rooted to the spot
The candle sputtered, spent and all was dark
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