Winter

She sits there at the window

with her kitty - and the birds,

who flutter about a feeder

that’s as empty as her words.

She doesn’t care if the help shows up-

they’re not something that she needs-

until the hunger strikes and burns

and panic forms a seed -

that sprouts and twines around her heart

and changes her whole creed.

Fed again, and all is well,

She says, No nursing home for me!

My home is where I’ll sit and wait

‘Til the Watchman sets me free.

Until then, I’ll watch the birds

and pet my lovely kitty,

and shun the help whose offering,

is bread smothered in pity.

It takes three of them to amount the years

I’ve endeavored on this plane

and few have seen the sights I’ve seen

or weathered storms in vain.

But it doesn’t matter now, I guess,

these nine decades and six years on,

a century might be given me,

If I can last ‘til dawn.

Ten years ago is yesterday,

and next year? Just this eve.

So I shall sit here in my stillness

like the last leaf on a tree,

And await for winter’s breath to blow

The birds, kitty and me.