A Cold Caller 

By Sis Unsworth

One December evening, we heard the doorbell ring,

“Who is going to answer that?” dad said with a grin.

He knew no one would leave, the cosy heated room,

and go out to the front door, and face the winter gloom.

Then uncle Fred attempted, but said he was in pain,

his hip replacement was still sore, he sat back down again.

Then the doorbell rang once more, but no one ventured up,

it was then that dad asked my old mum, to pour him another cup.

“The poor thing outside our front door, it’s freezing cold out there,”

aunt Mary tried to sound sincere, but we knew she didn’t care

the caller must indeed be cold, on that we did agree,

but none of us would leave the room, to go outside and see.

Mum declared “will no one go, just to our front door?

You know there’ll be more snow tonight, and no chance of a thaw.”

She then glanced around the room, with a disbelieving face,

For we were all reluctant, to leave the warm fireplace.

When you come to think on it, it really was a sin,

We all wondered who it was, but no one would give in

suddenly the ringing stopped, the caller went away.

“Someone should have answered that, was all that dad would say.”

We always blame each other, whenever the tale is told,

the one thing that we all agreed, “Whoever called was cold!”

 

Copyright Sis Unsworth