This poem was written by one of my mother’s ancestors. The surnames I know from her family are Godwin, Easton, Falconer and Button. It was written by a woman. That is all I remember.

I don’t want this poem forgotten, so I publish it here.

Twelve

When I was twelve, my sister was sick.
So I made a cross of two straight sticks,

And I made an altar under a tree,
Hidden by brambles so no one could see.

She was so sick – I prayed inside,
“God, make her well” – and my sister died.