For some reason,  I thought of Mrs. McGhee today.
I  first met her in church, a lovely Christian lady
with snow white hair combed to perfection.
Although she was way up in years,
her face didn't  seem wrinkled.  Maybe it was that ivory white
face powder she used that  gave her that angelic, porcelain
appearance.   Her husband had died not long before and she had no children.
 She lived all alone now in a little white house near the church.

One day I spent a little time with Mrs. McGhee
and I got to know her a little better.  That was the  day she told me
of her loneliness.   She talked about how much she missed her husband.
Recently, her brother had also died and he was the last of her family,
leaving her all alone. She told me that she missed being hugged most of all.
 What she said to me next made my heart ache with sorrow as
she turned to me and said,
"Now, there is no one left to call me Clara."

People often forget what it's like for the elderly yet
we will all pass that way if we live to grow old.   After that day,
I always gave Clara a hug and I thought of her as family.

This poem is for Clara and other Claras out there who need
a hug and would like for someone just to say their name.

There Is No One Left

There is no one left
And I am all alone.
No one to say my name
Or call me on the phone.

There is no one left
Since all have gone away.
Love once shared my life
In time, it could not stay.

There is no one left
As the clock strikes the hour
Tomorrow it will be the same,
Imprisoned by time's power

There is no one left
Love fled the place I live
I yearn for gentle hugs
Or just a smile to give

There is no one left
I wait beside the door
And wonder if there's anyone
To love me anymore

By Pamela R. Blaine
© April, 2001