'How stoical!' my companion said
As we stood beside the grave,
'How filial and how honourable;
How noble and how brave!'
The sisters, Maude and Verity,
Agnes and Veronique,
Had nursed their father for fifteen years,
When he was frail and weak.
He was an evil-tempered man;
Watching them like a hawk;
Telling them what to eat and drink,
Telling them how to talk.
They stood, the picture of misery,
Beside the shallow grave,
And many a fellow mourner
Echoed the words 'How brave!'
Maude had spoken in the church,
As though their father were a king.
Was I the only person there
Who heard a voice with a hollow ring?
Of course, as an apothecary,
Things were plain as they could be;
After all, Miss Agnes
Had bought the poison from me.
She's a handsome woman, Miss Agnes,
And now she's rich as well.
It's lucky that I know secrets
That I shall never tell.
Tomorrow I'll court Miss Agnes;
How happy we will be!
But I'll be keeping the poisons
Under lock and key!
*
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
INDIGENOUS ART
Value...... a variable word.
For decades Aboriginal art was valueless.
It was stumbled across by intrepid travellers
Who deemed it worthless,
Childlike,
Dauby
And inconsequential.
Then it was discovered!
*
Now it fetches millions
In trumped-up Art Galleries worldwide!
It is copied.
But no forger can ever imbue the art
With stories,
Family references,
A feeling of 'place'.
No copy 'sings'.
*
It belongs to the Aborigines.
I hope
*
