You enter the windowless room.
Grief closes and bolts the door.
You are alone in utter darkness.
Others, outside, beat upon their wailing walls
but you do not hear.

Time has no meaning inside this room.
Minutes pass like years until, one day,
a chink of life sneaks in,
bringing a tentative touch of warmth.
Soft voices hammer against the silence,
calling to be let in.

Cautiously, you unfasten
the self-indulgent safety-chain
and peer out once more
into a world still ceaselessly
turning around you, where loved ones
have been patiently pacing the floor, ready
to offer you the kiss of life.

© Marion Sharville


Hung over from December,
January peers cautiously into the future.
The past year jogs her elbow…time to change.
Hope, around the open door of the New Year,
beckons…lighting the way.

The sharp winter cold
stirs the slurried taste of yesterday;
cleansing the palate to be
refreshed with new choices.

Braced, she strides forward,
trusting His promise that each false step
will not be irredeemable.

© Marion Sharville


On a day that’s cold and grey
the children act their Christmas play.
Their teachers have spent many hours
making cardboard sheep and cows.

Mixed infants gather on the stage
and shuffle to their places;
sit mums and dads, their glowing pride
lighting up their faces.

The shepherds and the Magi,
from distant lands have come,
at least along the corridor
from classroom number one.

Three tallest boys, with stuck on beards
are looking rather wary
in case the glue should come unstuck.
…and little Rose plays Mary.

The angels with their tinsel wings
below the star hung on a string,
are told to hover round about;
hands clasped in solemn prayer throughout.

The infant lying in the crib
is Joseph’s little brother Sid,
whose mum has lent him for the day,
the baby Jesus part to play.

He’d just arrived at home, whom mum
had called their ‘Little Stranger’
but he had slept in a nice clean cot,
not a grubby manger.

And young Joseph as he stood
beside the babe, felt really good
to be a part of this great story
of Peace and Joy and Love and Glory.

© Marion Sharville



Last night I lay asleeping
and then, the darn phone rang.
I picked it up and flung it,
it landed with a clang.
I heard her sweet voice crying
“Oh please return my call.”
Methought, whatever can I do?
What would be best of all?
Methought, whatever can I do?
What would be best of all?

An answer phone, an answer phone,
then if my love should ring
I’d sleep on, while she keeps on
and I wouldn’t hear a thing.

And then, methought, ‘hold on a bit,
this will not do at all,
if, in the morn, I phone her back,
they’ll charge me for the call.
It might be best to marry her;
then she will be right here.
Methinks, she can then snuggle up
and whisper in my ear.
Methinks, she can then snuggle up
and whisper in my ear.

No answer-phone, no answer-phone;
phone calls do not come cheap.
Methinks I’ll have to wed her,
then I can get some sleep.

© Marion Sharvile

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