For Joan Crammond Poem by Michael Shepherd

You told me last year - in between
doing all you could for others
in your state and at your age -
(and that meant working dawn to dusk, at least -
as you had done most of your life)
that you were 'tidying up'
so that your family would have least work
to do themselves when you'd passed on

And so, as just reward, death came to you
tidily,
neatly, smoothly, in your own tidy room

Just a few weeks ago,
when you had done a kindness
spreading word of my poetry,
I sent you a poem on
'A Reminiscence of a Great Lady'
and to my surprise, not just, from you,
a kind and tidy, just response,
but you were deeply stirred

Did you read in it, the great lady
whom we both had known and loved?
Was it what you'd always hoped to be?
Or did you recognise yourself in it - in full?

No need now to question.
No need, anyway; the difference
is not important in eternity.

Not so important as
a tidy, outward life. So,
that poem and now this
to you, for you