Home from work, feeling blue,
Telephone rings, "Hi I'm Sue,
Got your letter, liked your style,
Thought I'd call to talk awhile".

Thirty something, blue-grey eyes,
Hair of red to stun the guys.
Five foot five, clearly clever,
Flowery speech she can deliver.

For souls abused and ripped apart,
She shares a tear and opens her heart,
To feel the pain that has steadily built,
In the minds and bodies ridden by guilt.

With a disposition for affection and care,
Her eternal calling lies somewhere out there,
Among the legions of bruised and battered remains,
Born to a life of psychological chains. 

Home to this girl is among grand flats,
That she happily shares with five little cats.
Not much to hear in the line of chatter,
But they fill a vacuum which to her does matter.

So when cruising through Edinburgh's trinity,
In the direction of Sue's elegant vicinity,
Remember those in the depths of despair,
And the "cats" that are roaming, looking for care.

Written & (c) John McKay Withey 1995