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