Eyes snapped shut in the street-facing bedroom

lit up by the light of the Spar

that floods it's white plastic windows

illuminating each passing car

In her curled up hands a faded old photo

crinkled,yellowing,torn,

but the hands,once so gentle,that hold this mementoe,

are as cold,are as granite, as stone

In came Sister with a meagre tea tray

barging in,past...

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