Long Last

Suddenly, not long before 
Her eighty-first birthday,
The younger sister died 
Next morning, the elder lay 
Asking the open door 
Why it was light outside,

Since nobody had put on 
The kettle, or raked the ashes,
Or come to help her find 
The dark way through her dress 
This went on till nearly one 
Later, she hid behind

The gas stove 'Amy,s gone,
Isn't she' they remember her saying, 
And 'No' when the married niece 
Told her the van was coming 
Her neck was leaf-brown 
She left cake on the mantelpiece.

This long last childhood 
Nothing provides for.
What can it do each day 
But hunt that imminent door 
Through which all that understood 
Has hidden away?