The last words exchanged
“Have a nice holiday Frances”.
“I will Mike” her voice strong
Belying her eighty something years.

Accompanied by her sister
The mini-cab tooting impatiently
They were off to the airport
The adventure to be savoured.

Memories of the old country
Still thinking as a girl in her mind
Forty shades of green
Tipped hats in greeting then.

Frances owned a twinkled soul
Her eyes brightly engaging
Forced wrinkles into laughter lines
Sadness deep in sorrow times.

Now perhaps, deep among the pastures old
She runs with legs that laugh
The Zimmer frame forgotten
The gnarled stick redundant in perpetuity.

The grave in that homeland sweet
To forever hold its sister
A comfort well held
Its soil to smile in its embrace.