Sunday, 24 May 2015


Where has that lost tribe of old women gone?

Lost in places where they really come from,

Back in those times where places stood still,

Beyond wheelchair, illness & sad prescribed pill.


Those of church bazaars, baked scones & teas,

Of stories to grandchildren bounced upon knees,

Of the knitting, mending & the tatting of old lace,

Those of rounded rose-cheek & cheery sweet face.


Those tribes have morphed, moved on & so changed,

Have those grannies & nannies now become deranged?

Flaunting tattoos on old skin, that was once frail & white,

Showing now their flesh, that once, they kept out of sight.


The floral old ladies, of chintz, bottled jams & baked pies,

Tribe of old women, lost, on wings of time that now flies,

Now merely stored away in memories & old sepia pages,

That tribe of old women now lost, within past´s old ages.


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