She became a gentle old lady
But, if the signs weren't heeded,
With a sharp and cutting tongue
If she felt that it were needed.
And she'd a way with words,
In her old East Riding way
I'd have to hide my laughter
At some of the things she'd say.
A child of the Great War,
A simple country wife
Who'd worked long and hard
Every day of her younger life.
Widowed at just sixty
She'd bravely carried on,
Now, well past eighty,
We knew she'd soon be gone.
So I sat there quietly
Beside her dying bed
Quite clearly heard the
Last words to me she said.
Hey lad what a mess
Tha's ganna be in
If tha's not got a pot
For thee to piddle in.
I left her unconscious bed
Having kissed her goodbye
Later that same night
She very peacefully died,
Chose to be on her own when
Slipping away with quiet stealth,
The last link with a childhood
Rich in everything but wealth.
She'd a way with words did me mam
With her sweet and gentle face
And her at times cutting tongue that
Could swiftly put you in your place.
And, her last words to me
I never ever forgot
And always made sure I've had
The modern version of a chamber pot.
