British Lung Foundation
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Sunday's poem

HHER day out from the workhouse-ward, she stands,

A grey-haired woman, decent and precise,

With prim black bonnet and neat paisley shawl,

Among the other children by the stall;

And with grave relish eats a penny ice.

To wizened toothless gums, with quaking hands

She holds it, shuddering with delicious cold;

Nor heeds the jeering laughter of young men --

The happiest, in her innocense, of all:

For, while their insolent youth must soon grow old,

She, who's been old, is now a child again.

Wilfred Gibson

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Goosebumps. Thank you Iris.

Hmmmm....

It will come to us all. Well, some us. I think I shall shuffle off my mortal before that.

Love

Kate xx

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I usually post a bit earlier than this, but technology has been up to its tricks again - well it might well be my old age! What with the copy and paste not cooperating, and my granddaughter in Sydney messaging me and saying she has got skype on her phone now, she's 11, and please Nana can we talk, then its her bedtime. Nana doesn't know if she's coming or going!

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Thank you once again Iris. Reminded me of an ancestor of mine who ended up in the workhouse and came out with two children. I don’t want to think about what happened to her.

Have a wonderful day. Xxxxx

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Lyd12, very wistful, I love the poetry you post.

Thank you.

Meg

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What can one say after that. Except bring on the ice lollies. Beautiful poem.

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