by Anne E Thompson
The child lies,
Hot under heavy eiderdown,
With frozen face protruding,
Chink of china tea-pot, mew of cat,
Stamp of heavy boots, on kitchen mat.
Mumbling quiet voices, feed the dog,
Poker stirs the fire, then adds a log.
Working men arrive to shop next door,
Metal bucket dragged, across stone floor.
Clanking toilet chain from outside loo,
House martins fussing, as new chicks flew.
Kettle whistle dies, then clink of latch,
Bang of larder door, harsh strike of match.
Footstep creaking upstairs, breeze stirs net,
Rap on bedroom door, “Are you up yet?”