Morag

She is too proud to ask for help so she struggles on her own
Shovelling the overnight snowfall from her front door that the wild wind has blown
So with bended back and aches and pains Morag chivers and silently sighs
as people pass her by on the street admiring such sheer determination yet with ignorance of her agonize

But Morag was widowed years ago alas she was only twenty two 
Married life hadn’t lasted long when William dropped down out of the blue
And yes she had chances of romances but always stopped them in their prime
She couldn’t risk that heartache happening a second time

Nowadays she’s well used to living solitude
and she gets by on her widow’s pension, it’s not alot but it buys her food
It’s days of darkness amidst the winter months that Morag hates the most
Sitting huddled by her fireside supping tea and eating strawberry jam on toast

Nowadays lighting her fire uses up all her energy but it is well worth the effort in the cold
Rheumatism and Arthritis attacks her old bones 
That’s the price to pay for growing old
So staring betwixt and between the rising yellow flickered flames 
Her fingers fiddle with tiled letters from her solitary move playing the Scrabble board games