A Biscuit

In An Apartment Deep Within East End of London
A Lonely Proud Women, Old, And Fragile
Drinks Her Tea, Eats Her Biscuit And Smiles Satisfied
Outside The Day And Its Bright Light Had Gone It’s Way
The Sun Had Fallen Like An Winter Red Apple From The Tree
A Day To Remember She Whispers And Turned Off The Dim Kitchen Light
Her Hair Was White Since Long As The Snow She Seldom Had Seen
Once As A Child, At The Age Of Five, Or Was It Seven
Outside The Snow Now Shimmers As A Gift From Heaven