When I was my mother the other week, I read her this poem. It was new to me, and if she knew it before, she had forgotten it. We both enjoyed it immensely. And I loved the fact that we smiled at the same lines; looked at each other with the same delight in its discovery; lingered over it and exclaimed at the humour.
Strange that my mother’s dementia should have led us again to share poetry. Had she been one of those ‘marvelous’ nonagenarians who have retained full use of their faculties, we would probably be having far more prosaic conversations.