Her Name(For Lyn)

Her possessions deserted her left her at her death became petty useless things the memories of her... ...times gone by photographs of memories that no one remembers anymore holidays & Holy days precious things now idly masquerading as items emptied from wardrobes & drawers washing up on charity shop shelves now just junk or binned a lifetime in a refuse sack no thought now of who she was the dustmen whistling in the morning a music fragile as frost breath left hanging in the coldness of the air an empty house unable to recall her footfall the sound of her voice reciting Walter de la Mare to her overfeed orange cat. Her possessions deserted her forgetting even her name.