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In the evening. simmering handkerchiefs
Perfumed the air with odours I can’t tell
Mother scrubbed them, hung them on the line
Then I had to iron them, folded well
Now we have our tissues, we don’t need
Hankies that need scrubbing many times
The oceans deep are poisoned with our waste
Is the use of tissues a new crime?
While we did our homework after tea
My brother liked his Wagner at full blast
Imagine learning Latin with that din
Now the time for anger has long passed
Bad memories change by newly given grace
Evoking hints of mother and her face
