Rose Maloney sits in her chair
The room is dim
The floor is bare
And life for Rose is very grim.
Rose takes in sewing
It helps to pay the bills
Though it pays a pittance
For her meagre skills.
Her children play in the yard
Not knowing their fate
Times for Rose are very hard
But the rent man won't wait.
Roses husband drowned at sea
She wishes he'd walk through the door
Tommy the youngest, he's only three
There's Lizzy at six and Billy he's four.
A bowl of soup a crust of bread
Their little faces washed clean
Then up the stairs off to bed
None of them too keen.
The rent man's waiting for his money
As Rose sells her husbands clothes
She knows life won't be milk and honey
So Rose Maloney sits and sews and sews.
© Hazel
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A nice poem from a fellow Lancastrian, although I suspect there's some Irish in you, judging by your beautiful handling of your rhythm. A very real account of Life for Widows and like your Somme poem, very moving. Tom Billsborough