Bubbles

Her babblings had a giggling effect,
Children made her a laughing stock,
She was my nursery teacher lovable,
She was bony, wrinkled and old.
Hr forearm had a christ etched,
A mark of her glorious days stretched,
She spoke of religious tenets to children
And sang rhymes tuning lyre comely
There was beauty, the chorus sang
They played  toys with her kindnness
Even the mild wind passed doubts
About her sanity.  She was not earthly,
Geriatric centres foresook her
She was too poor and so a nurse....
We liked her.  Our parents paid her
And one day she didn't come.
We children cried. Parents searched,
And there under the sod she lay
With no memorial service. Poor she was