A poem by RUBY MASON.
Never missed Evensong
(the newspapers said)
sang beautifully
back conservatoire straight
fingers spread on her hymnal
as though
poised for chord.
Then she’d proceed
to her broken-down car
with a bouquet of carrier bags
tucked under her arm
as the traffic applauded
her homelessness and grace.
And the night the lorry
killed her
(the newspapers said)
the stars were out bright
And hundreds of well-wishers
are mourning her death
So God
let everything written
be true
let Anne Naysmith
flourish a final chord
And let it never be said
that in Chiswick
this time of year
there aren’t many
thoughts
for the musical poor
and the streetlights
almost always
drown out the stars.
