A Stubborn Woman

 
She’s old, it’s cold, her house smells of mould
No one visits any more, knocks her door
She shivers as the postman delivers
Yet another bill, she feels the chill
Too proud to beg for help. Old school fool?
Lives mostly in the dark, but years ago, at Bletchley Park
Her workload breaking code
Defeated the enemies of her nation
Now suffers degradation
Stubborn, uncommunicative, won’t change her ways
The Social Services report says
She lives, now, within her head, remembering Fred
The dashing young airman she never wed
Incinerated as his plane plunged from the screaming skies
Loves demise
No man ever shared her bed
No one could replace her Fred
She sighs as her meagre fire dies
Forgotten by the land she helped to save
Now she prays for the peace of the grave