STANDEN Joan

STANDEN (Joan):

Joan

Joan Rae Standen

Of that I’m sure

Nee Fitzsimmons

I believe—Irish

Likely, to the core.

An absolute lady

If ever there was,

Always polite and sincere

Warm and dignified,

Welcoming and inclusive.

Pious in every way

Oft at Sunday church,

And when I did ask,

“For what do you pray?”

“Why, for you, of course”

Is what she would say.

With humour she was quick

And conversation witty,

Such was always kind

So pleasant a time to share,

Over a cuppa

With Dear Nanna.

Bert was there for many a year

For whom Joan loved and cared

Till he departed to upstairs,

And left her all alone

Softly stoic,

And when John went

She remained…softly stoic.

The shelf was laced

With books she shared

That took her to distant shores

To loves and lives diverse.

With needles and fingers

Moving, knitting colour, soft

For newborns, clothes and toys

Of animated character for little ones in need.

O the earlier years, little do I know

Though wish I did,

Joan told me some…

Her living memory of

Growing up with grandparents

In the outback,

Of strings of men in chains

Hobbling along the track to where?

Cruelty.

Time goes so slowly

And oh so fast

Like the roses she loved,

Our existence is but fleeting

Alive only momentarily

In the context of time.

Who can remember us

Our hearts and souls,

And the character

Of us we need to share

Down the line of time

For generations to come.

Vale Beautiful lady.