A cold bed
That feeling of cold insecurity
now slept on, feels even more sharp
in the morning's light.
She holds her hand to her head,
her eyes deep and dark, worried.
Her face serious.
The sheets are her only protection
from a hostile world and she delays
getting up.
She ponders, worries and frets,
but cannot put a stopper in her troubles,
they're too large
The sound of an opening letterbox
is like nails across a blackboard
or the squeak of chalk
and as she lies there, pale faced, awake,
the final demand hits the hall floor
like the falling of the guillotine.
poem by Ruth Walters
Added by Poetry Lover
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