Once there was an old woman who lived all alone.
She had no tv, not even a phone.
She had no family to call her own; she lived by herself in a woodsy zone.
The trees were big, the sky was blue; but these were things she never knew.
For she never left her tiny home, never past her poarch did she roam.
And only then to get the things she ordered every week;
Writing her list on paper, never daring to speak.
Children used to dared each other to knoch upon her door,
But they never dared to anymore.

She'd lived there for many years, but once her life was full.
Of beauty, youth, and love; but he had gone to heaven, above.
So she was alone for many years, but never did she shed any tears.

She died alone bitter and old, but nobody was ever told.
Many years later, a construction crew came.
They knocked on the door and called her name.
But no one answered, so they opened the door, and her found her remains on the floor.
They shut the door and turned on their wrecking machine,
knocked down the house, and buried the woman in one lonely scene.

~CL

Written on October 2, 1997