Wrapped in your wool
with that will in your eye
She's firm but she's gentle
she loves you it hurts
breakfast eight sharp
then lunch at half-twelve
you come down for your tea
and the Angelus bells

We ran in bare feet over stones
and the thorns
that was cross-country running in
County Clare
I look at them now
sandaled and layered
your walking-frame
smiling in the glare

I can't understand your
need for the news
news is at eight, nine, ten
and eleven
lunchtime news
and more at seven
News at nine before you sleep
a paper a day and the radio beep

I know,
we grow
and you can't remember
if it's me or I'm her
or we're seventeen
You know that's it's raining and
there's war over there
so you hold on to that
but how much do you care?

It's not your fault.
your papery hands clasped
in your little lap
It's too fast
and it spins and it spins
and we are spinning away
I'm trying to hold on
to hold you
I help you up
I sit you down
I can't help with this
I'm sorry gran.