The room is bare, only a chair in the corner and
Its set is still warm from the woman who sat there.
She’s gone, won’t be back.

The room has a heavy sighing silence,
it’s stuffy and needs to be aired.

A faint smell of stale perfume lingers and its dusty window
has no curtain to brighten its weather bitten Frame.

Brown wall, with grey squares were pictures used to hang.
I slowly close its creaking door and leave it to its
own devise.