Ten Green Bottles Poem by Kathy Greethurst

And there you sat in the sitting room,
like green bottles - with your Bibles open -
praying and waiting.

When it was your turn,
eyes dull, skin pale and body shrunk,
you climbed the stairs and took to your bed.

And I was told to go up and kiss you on the cheek -
until that became too much, the doctor was called
and you were carried out in your coffin.

And Victorian, my place was to sit, seen and not heard,
on the red damask stool, feet sucked into the swirling carpet,
never being told or daring to ask what your illnesses were,

as you curled to death and left me -
with the song singing inside my head.