When the clouds move in

When the clouds move in and the rain tumbles down,
I think of my mum in her old dressing gown,
Watching the rain forming puddles in the path
and creating strange patterns in the window glass
of the garden shed marking memories of the past.

When Mum sees the shed with a vacant stare,
We know she’s remembering a girl not there,
Tales have been told about our sister and friends
Tales that get twisted, that never seem to end,
A tale I will tell…there the matter will end.

One Spring when the garden was looking its best,
and Mum a young woman, long hours without rest,
nursing her daughter on the porch from her breast.
Nodded off, fell asleep, so exhausted, yet blessed,
for the neighbours loved the daughter as one of the best.

Mum cared for that little girl through her first years,
Was never one to worry Mum with her quick tears,
As my brothers and I came along and grew strong
We’d tease our sister mercilessly all the day long.
A girl in pigtails was teasing her brothers before long.

We were proud when our sister went to high school,
And watched how the boys were playing the fool,
But never once did our sister put a foot out of place,
Stayed in the boundaries set by our mother with grace,
A young woman admired and favoured by most.

Dark clouds were gathering as she went off to school
One day with her friend and a boy she thought cool,
A day when a boy shot his teachers and school mates
With a gun for a weapon he determined all fates
Except for my sister who in scorn rallied her mates.

“Hide in the cupboard! Be as still as you can!
He’s only a boy with a narrow brain scan!
Hush now, he’s coming I’ll lead him astray.”
Those were the words her friends remembered her say.
The words of the hero she turned into that day.

She did not once falter but stood up to the lout,
Who came to school to murder to ease his pain out,
It haunts me forever when I recall his chill words
“Too bad you gotta go! You were the best of the birds!”
Selfless and caring, gunned down with those words.

When the clouds move in and the rain tumbles down,
I think of my mum in her old dressing gown,
Watching the rain forming puddles in the path
and creating strange patterns in the window glass
living with her memories of a girl in her past.

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