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 |