There

There is the house where she used to live
And there, where the rambler roses run
up the high porch posts is the
rocking chair
where she used to sit in the morning sun
and there are the shades
that she used to draw
to keep out the dark when the day was done
and she was never lonely.

There is the patch of herbs she grew
kneeling alone in the early spring
to break the ground
still hard with cold
and there, from the oak
hung a broken swing
that was used by the children
who lived next door
And she was never lonely.

There are the pictures
that she kept so long
secure in a frame about her head,
and there is the clock
with the cuckoo bird
who mocked the hours as they came and fled
and there is the dressing gown she wore
when she stretched herself on the half warmed bed
and she was never lonely
she said.