A poem I did not want to write
As we slowly watched her lose her fight
At any time it's a word we don't need
To be struck by a natural curse at its seed
That word, hope
With her looks, just dancing as a model
She made her diagnosis look like a doddle
But the surface covered many an internal ache
For she made the best of it she could make
As its a fire with a spark and a terminal spinning spoke
Always revolving, evolving, to a thread we cannot cope
But Christ did she fight with a sight to give us all a bit of hope
Thank you Dame Deborah James for what you gave
Passionate, loving and unadulterated,

Rebellious Hope ❤️

JJB