Room Number Six

Room number Six at the top of the stairs
Dust settling on bed sheets no one slept there
A ring of the bell, a woman enquired
The social they sent me, is your room for hire?
I’ve just these two cases, no chattels I own
He said come in you’re welcome, into my home
And he said to himself, her frock is so worn
The hemline’s all frayed and her heart is so torn
 
Hair of Gold, not held by a queen
Secrets locked deeply too lost to be seen
Two voices she whispers, in her room all apart
Counting wealth in paper, not in her heart
 
Miss Haversham’s pride, did it run through her too?
From the tilt of her chin, to the hole in her shoe.
Two voices she whispers, the woman, the girl,
While tattered old pound notes around her unful
Winter grew colder, her clothes now in rags
The new coat they bought was left in its bag.
Their charity spurned, one day she just left
Two brown leather cases and **** all the rest

Hair of Gold, not held by a queen
Secrets locked deeply too lost to be seen
Two voices she whispers, in her room all apart
Counting wealth in paper, not in her heart
 

Hair of Gold, not held by a queen
Secrets locked deeply too lost to be seen
Two voices she whispers, in her room all apart
Counting wealth in paper, not in her heart
 


For Dot, circa 1981.
And Mum and Dad, who saw the soul behind the suitcase