Gertrude at 80 lived alone in her flat, every week day and the day after that, she rose at dawn as she had since a lass, made raisin toast and tea in a glass. (Not a Cup) Then she poured another and looked out for the sun, assured it had indeed, once again, as it had since she was a lass, come up. Amy Knat also left her tidy home, also greeting the morning on her pleasent walk. Thinking what is good about today?. Ah, yes it is Tuesday, perhaps I will get a raise, or a new smock. At Amy”s work she swept the floor, checked the loo, made coffee and dusted the jars, before the demands of customers, arriving on foot or in cars. And every day when she cleaned the glass, in the front window Gertrude went past and waved. She bought milk and a paper from the corner shop, and on her way home at the postbox she’d stop, and mail a letter…Amy Knat thought long, long thoughts, to whom did this tiny old woman write? Perhaps Grandchildren other side of the whirled, perhaps a sweepstakes, hoping to win, hopefully not  some T.V. preacher weeping from sin.She envisioned a niece or nephew in need of cheer, or old friend living not far from here, who but for Gertrude never got letters or cards, only bills…Thus went the daily and monthly and yearly routine of strangers…Amy did get her new smock, and kindly old Gertrude wrote letters, and neither knew that the other thought to, of their separate lives as they smiled and waved.Both women were poets,like me, and  long ago at Wigmore Hall, both poets had crossed paths with The Vagabond Godfrey…


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