Glad your grandmother is sharing.
This is one of a series of poems, written by my Grandmother, that represent a portrait of her childhood in Thomas Hardy’s Wessex, places and people she loved who are, for the most part, no longer with us. She dedicates each and every poem to her daughters, and has kindly given me permission to share them with you all, enjoy…
Miss Allen
There was Miss Allen,
The infants’ teacher,
Her hair was snowy white-
A skiing accident, they said,
My friend Margaret
Was her niece. An aunt
Is human, isn’t she?
Most teachers represent authority.
One day she died though.
We felt deserted.
Puppies died, by drowning,
But this was our first human death.
Margaret and I
And our friends, all stood
Around the open grave
Placating death with gifts of violets.
© Dorothy Davis-Sellick 1998 onwards