Hot Cross Buns (the Hut  4 )

 
 
Could I smell hot-cross buns  
was the hearth still warm?  
The kettle on the log was cold  
the window gone and door,  
took the kettle by the handle  
rusty, loose, as was the bottom,  
no water boiled for many a year  
none for ever again.  
The loneliness complete  
the old man and lovers gone  
left behind the memories  
ghostly, dancing in the half-lit hut.  
They were happy days at times,  
like us they laughed and sang  
made the place all cosy.  
Then the old man died  
as did the fire.  
Chair, table, pots and pans  
a bed with over-coat for duvet.  
So the lovers came  
I saw them both but once,  
the empty hut a luxury  
no where to hang their clothes  
no blankets against the cold,  
but lovers can't be choosers,  
they had a need of each  
searched and having found  
held the moment sacred  
that, which each, we know.