Tramps might sleep on them

I slipped on the stairs,
In  our Waterstone’s  bookshop
They don’t have a lift

In the old churchyard
There are no longer benches
Tramps might sleep on them

Waterstone’s  is out
I’ll buy all my books online
Sad as it is quiet.

In the sun a great heat,
I think I heard a cat mew
And my late husband smiled

I feel  happiness
Rising like a tide in spring
I’ll write a poem