From as far back as she can remember,

Her favourite place was behind the curtains,

Watching the traffic through the window.

Though, what drew her there she cannot be certain.

But year after year she would go there.

Because she loved that room and she loved the house.

Even now her thoughts return there often,

To the place where she stood as quiet as a mouse.

At Christmas time in that very place,

Stood the tall, decorated tree, always fragrant and green

But there was still enough space for her to stand and watch

Behind the curtains where she wouldn't be seen.

Outside the hustle and bustle of the city streets

Reduced to a hum from her silent watching place

Headlights glistened on the wet tarmac'd road

And dimly lit buses would pass with windows misted like lace.

Decades have passed but the memories still linger,

As though they were yesterday, as though she were there still.

But times have moved on and though the house still exists,

No matter how much she wants to return, she knows she never will.