She sits silently hunched over her one-bar electric fire
Dismal north Manchester light seeps through her tightly drawn curtains.
Her entire world was smashed when the burglar came
And she will never be the same
She sips her sweet tea shakily.
She gazes up at her mantlepiece
A young man's face looks at her out of the cracked glass.
His face smiles at her across the years.
Her tears flood down her wrinkled cheek
Silently I hold her hand in mine.
Entwine her fingers.
No words can reassure her
Though I talk of locks, alarms, visits.
But, I can see she's back in 1945
When she was so glad to be alive and kicking.