Our Mother

'Our Mother' Our Mother - a sophisticated lady Always destined for the top You'd never see her walk on by A top designer shop So impeccably presented; Amazing handbag, clothes and shoe Even perfume richly scented Numbered bottle gives the clue Never more elegant a lady Than the stylish Mrs Mannell Surely can't be just co-incidence That her name rhymes with Chanel? For pleasure; Mum rode her horses Liked playing hard and drinking gin Slip in friends and glass of champers And her heart you'd surely win Of her job she could wax lyrical And of work being her miracle A workaholic one might say Toiled every cent of hard earned pay Mum frequented finest restaurants If dined with Margaret you would discern Whether lunching at the Ivy Or in Paris, of course; Jules Verne Mum once painted chairs and pottery And boiled up fudge to taste She made luscious chocolate mousse those days And yoga trimmed her waist Mum sketched and drew with creative flare Gave her loving cats amazing care She sung out loud never just a hum Then taught me to be a Mum We all knew different parts of Mum But between us we all know Her strength could be a barrier "Dahhling, don't let feelings show" No matter what we all admire in her With love and pride we glow At the sea of people facing her Must not let tear drops flow A formidable woman Margaret Or as Peggi to many friends Just 'Mum' to my sister and I And where this poem almost ends She was Grandma Peg to four granddaughters And now a great grand-son Who knew she stayed and fought To become a great grand mum So to the 'bar', let's go raise glasses For this tough old bird please grin She'd hate to see sad faces No tears while drinking gin 'Our mother' For Margaret Mannell's funeral By Victoria Payne