I am widowed and my children are all grown.
They are busy with their own families.
My tree is bare of leaves and no birds sing.
The house is quiet and I wait in hope
That the phone will ring or some friend might stop by;
Anything to end my isolation

I hear the mail slot open and the thud
of magazines and junk mail on the floor.
The letter carrier, gone without a word,
walks briskly in the outside bitter cold.

The radio is on and comforts me.
a chance, at least, to hear other voices.
They prattle on about terrorist threats;
venial Politicians and celebrity divorces.

Another year reaches its anticlimactic end.
I’ll watch the ball drop and prepare for bed.
It is for others to make the New Year Ring-
My tree is bare of leaves and no birds sing.