Once she stood resplendent

In her coat of scarlet.

Now replaced by shabby attire.

Peeling paint, tears of condensation.

Mocked or ignored by all who pass,

Around her feet weeds of green

Clamber through pebbles of grey.

A primrose grows, small but strong,

Looking upwards with yellow eyes of hope.

One Summer’s day change arrived:

Paintbrush at the ready, new coat

Washed and cleaned. To her surprise

Books arrived to be placed inside.

No more to be heard the ring of the phone,

Instead, now people come from near or far

To borrow books, meet and chat.

Life returns once more to the old phone box.

 

by Sue Cavanagh