the room is dreary dark <br />and cheerless cold <br />and Missus Moffit sits there <br />growing old <br /> <br />sweet-salty memories <br />are her company <br />and for warmth she can’t afford <br />the electricity <br /> <br />a knock upon her door <br />brings her to her feet <br />she opens it and peers out <br />to the draughty street <br /> <br />a youth with bearded face <br />and tangled hair <br />says “Missus Moffit? ” <br />is that you there? ” <br /> <br />I’ve come from our Club – <br />we really want to do <br />whatever we can to help <br />the folk alone like you” <br /> <br />he holds out a large <br />bright bunch of daffodils <br />she takes them from him <br />and her whole heart fills <br /> <br />“Come in, come in” she says <br />“I’ll put the kettle on – <br />sit down, sit down <br />and make yourself at home” <br /> <br />The room is different now <br />no longer dreary <br />and Missus Moffit’s face <br />is far from weary <br /> <br />for on the table stands <br />a vase of golden flowers <br />lighting up with love and splendid showers <br />her solitary hours <br /> <br />written for a great aunt who dreams of 'days gone by'<br /><br />Penny Hemans<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-knock-upon-her-door/
