Unwavering Old Stick-Title supplied by Elizabeth Squires.

a poem by William Willis, Scotland

Note-This poem is based on an old lady who recently moved into my neighbourhood.

so withered, so pale
so worryingly frail
but smiles
to thoes she'll meet
wearing well worn rags
with blue carrier bag
she ambles along our street

her walk is slow
(deep chewy snow)
over exerted
i could tell
a humble life
was she ever a wife?
she looks weak and so unwell

same time of day
just like other days
she treads her well worn route
as she draws near
i can see it clear
in her bag is
bread and fruit

will i stop and talk
will i pause her walk
as i near her
(skeletal frame)
see her wrinkles deep
she looks cold and weak
is it Social Work to blame

so i said "hello,
don't you hate this snow
can you keep your feet ok ?"
she said
"i know i'm old
but it should be told
my memories keep the cold away"

it was a great reply
then i heard her sigh
and say "i'm going to see my sister
you know she's 96
and walks with sticks
and yesterday
i missed her"

so with twinkling eyes
and head held high
she seemed fine
(far as i could tell)
i was quite relieved
many would believe
that she couldn't look
after herself

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