That poor old dear ❤️

With her bible clasped in both her wrinkly hands saying a comforting prayer

And though not a living soul  can hear her cries as she cradles that chair

An ambience of eeriness lingers everywhere..

Is her late beloved better half hovering in that very room?

Watching over his little old wife in her weary gloom 

Oh but how she misses his laughter in her lost, lonely doom

Sat swaying by the fireside beside her antique spinning loom..

That old wooden chair squeaks on and on as her dreary days disappear

Though she is as deaf as a post so she can her hear

Whilst her tired, beady eyes shed a drip drop tear