For my dear friend Ann Sharp,
who was one of the seven.

Sisters at the grave side
Wood coffin in descent
To the dark and cold embrace
Of this living earth’s lament.

Dear mother in her night attire
Has passed her mortal time
And tears of heat fall to the sod
From six of those in line.

The seventh stands expressionless
With clear eyes soft and round,
Red ruby lips set in a line
No teardrops tumble down.

A sibling touched her slender arm
And wordlessly sought how?
She turned her gaze with anguished cry
“Who shall we girls ask now?”


Marshalg
Victoria Park tunnel
6 January 2011