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I looked up that night saw her in her slippers,
I remained quite calm, not scared out of my knickers,
Your eyes look lost your soul is confused,
Why is someone else in your house,
Why is the spare room being used?

Your purple woolly jumper hugs your skeletal frame,
Your fingers are pointy, you don't seem to have a name,
Your hair is all cropped obviously well kept,
You look like you're sad, like you have often wept.

What are you doing here? Why didn't you follow the light?
Can your soul not move on? Can't it forget that night?
When you swallowed those pills, you took you're own life,
To be with your husband, to give him back his wife.

The cold empty atmosphere around you is chillingly still,
You don't see me sitting up here on the landing window sill,
But I watch you in amazement and awe,
You walk out of the living room through the dining room door.

You are quite tall for a lady your age,
This house was once yours now its all been re arranged,
We live here now it is our new home,
We know it once was lived in by a lady called Joan.

Is this you? Are you the lady who lived here?
I want to ask you but then you disappear,
That night you appeared in front of my eyes,
Never again did I see you when we lived in that house.

Vicki Wroe, 17 (C)

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