She stared and scowled; we recognized and smiled
To see the girl she was, the woman who
Today, we understand as one and two:
A loving mum; a jealous, red-haired child
They loved her in their way, for good and ill
Confuting illness with incompetence
Consult with her? Unfathomable! Hence
The condescending chapter of their will
Her boys were refuge, purpose, love sublime
Each year she celebrates her saints, anointed
And, every year, she ends up disappointed;
Expects the worst - and gets it, every time
She dares the world to drive her off her head
And on it, only sees anaemic red
