Amy Caroline

My grandmother, living to be ninety, met
Whatever chanced with kindness, held her head
On one side like a sparrow, had a bird's
Bright eyes. At dinner used to set
An extra place for strangers. This was done
She said, in Bendigo and Eaglehawk, it was
A custom she observed. In her thin house
That spoke aloud of every kind of weather
She put out food for lizards, scattered crumbs
For wrens beside the pepper-tree, and saved
The household water for geraniums.
At twilight, at the meditative hour
Perched on the piano-stool, in semi-dark
She liked to strum the songs learnt long ago
In Bendigo and Eaglehawk. She had
Eight children, little money, many griefs.
She was sorry
She never had a jinker and a horse
To drive about the roads in, of her own.