Tumbling o’er the chair, knock knock she kicked the clock.
After the loud thud the weary grandmother
Darted into the room and her baby clutched,
Looking at her eyes, cussed pools of hope, she sussed.
Tick tock the box stutteringly rang the hour
So she wafted the dust of the age with her elbow’s crust:

Scuttling through unknown manors waving placards,
Putting down the negligent bosses, insolent guards,
Sprinkling her dotted voice on parliament’s aisle,
Chanting shoulder to shoulder, dawn to dusk,
As with her sisters-in-arms mount on mount she piled
And the heavens thousands of miles higher they tossed.

So now, despite the slow rhythm of time and ancient scars,
Her sapling can rise higher and taller to reach the stars.