She took the pills in the upstairs bedroom
By the light of the winter sun
That shone above the Oak tree
From her tidy, square garden.

Beside her a lonesome photograph
Rested apathetic and unstirred,
But she began to feel nauseous
And could not choke a word.

Her daughter rang the doorbell,
Then, searching for her keys;
Panic stabbed her in her soul,
The Oak tree howled in the breeze.

She left the door ajar,
She let her feet rush upstairs,
She entered the bedroom,
She gasped; then tears.

Later her son was sitting in class
Tapping a rhythm against the desk,
Daydreaming of the one he loved,
Free of grim thought of what he’d hear next.

Did you know the depths of her sadness?
Had you read it in a book?
Many a dull afternoon wasted away
But in her eyes did you ever look?

The grandson looked on silently,
As the sky greyed, his face dull,
At the edge of the car park
Drifting thoughts on hold.

They gathered round her bed
Away from the cruel, bleak outside;
And tiptoed round the real questions,
The old woman began to cry.