Bereft of friends and neighbours to enquire
How cruel is life when left to linger on
In huddled form; stoked embers for a fire
With scuttle short of coal (to put upon)
Alone she sits and dreams of days gone by
Of gatherings with loved ones ‘round the tree
Such joyful times, when loved and still quite spry
Now love itself has proved an absentee
If destiny should be to fade away
Perchance a kindly word couldst then impart
Receiving of a card for ‘Christmas Day’
May bring in from the cold; twud lift ones heart
As ‘Season of Goodwill’ once more proclaims
A spark is all it takes to fan the flames