Aged bones
could not hide hard labour of years.
Yet behind
her lined face lay unwrinkled dreams.
Eyes blurred as
drops turned to deluge of mem\'ries
Her first days
in service revealed duty\'s extremes.
Rich homesteads
demanded extrinsic distinctions.
White aproned,
those maids learned not to be seen.
Marked values
reigned absolute with the Genteel.
But lost was
the grip in such household regimes.
As rumours
of war became fact fates were sealed.
Vanished went
edicts when soldiers were needed.
With servants\'
enlistment gone was a whole era.
Not again
finest balls would open Deb-Season.
Her chosen
sweetheart fed Passchendaele\'s greed.
The Master\'s
son fell and was mourned in great grief.
Traditions
aborted when young men disappeared.
Her eyes filled
again with remembered shed tears.
Spinsterhood
forced meant her planning defeated.
Every boy\'s
slaughter gave the future no meaning.
Ranks became
classless in trenched battle-shell heat.
Blood cannot
run blue spilt at war\'s crimson feet.
Now old and
alone one more Lady\'s maid weeps.