I know a woman happily demented
She scatters petals as she sleeps,
Sings the songs of the 1940s,
Thinks she is Bo-Peep.

War came to her cake shop
Put her to the test.
Now she casts her mind back there
And lets it rest.

Passes the test of time.
In a concocted rhyme.
Dresses her hair in a yellow head scarf
Says apropos of nothing but the truth:
“The hyacinth will soon be out. I love
The smell of hyacinth.” I tell her, “I do too.”

And so we do the soft shoe shuffle, sing
“On Mother Kelly’s doorstep, down Paradise Row”.
I love spending time with her: in rain or sun or falling snow.
She is my mum and I love her so.