Two strokes past midnight and your smile appears
to help me remember those decades ago when we
wrote secret messages in invisible ink and became
after lights out torch-authors of stories then games
with points won if we wrote ghost-tales at bed time
then we pledged by handshakes to keep reminders
that when trouble beset us to stand and be counted
in defence of true kinship, to lie each for each about
what, when and where, sealed with lemonade toasts
and bickies saved from afternoon tea but not stolen.
then as parting time came we sisters went two ways
one into nursing the other to perform well on stage
yet we talked over action when homesickness struck
and shoulders were cried on when goodbyes begun.
Still stored in folders your fondness for drying petals
and now you are gone Sis. all scent smells of lemons.