THE KNOCK ON THE DOOR

Aunty Vi in her normal routine of the day,
‘twas getting the last meal of the day prepared,
For her now she had only the little ones left at home,
With her Ted still droving cattle somewhere along the long paddock,
Outback of Tenterfield and all points north,
The long drought was still playing and being a bugger,
Furthermore, like all droving widows her place was here for her man,
In addition, her eldest was somewhere over there at the war,
And out of no-where
She heard the front door being knocked,
And standing there before her
‘twas the Reverend Brown her local vicar from St Stephens up the road,
Not looking like he was doing his normal Sunday Service,
He was here in his official capacity as a home front foot soldier.
With a message to be delivered.
It was he who delivered saddened tidings,
And in the palm of his hand
A flimsy piece of paper,
Which carried the weight of news?
Of killed-in-action next to her son Rodney’s name,
Now as a long shadow was cast,
And a terrible ordeal consumed her soul,
Totally unexpected as Rodney’s last letter received.
‘twas a week or so ago,
That all was well and where he was,
Was well away from the front.

Now her tears flowed effortlessly,
So saddened by the message delivered,
When received by that knock on her door.

Francis Cooper – Mac © 12-May-23