On Earth as in Heaven

Custom dictates the maid draw the drapes
this dull, rainy morning in Leamington Spa
for, Madame Dubois, you are gone from this place,
left this leafy-green crescent behind.

The grandfather clock, downstairs in the parlour,
ticks doggedly on, where you once sipped your tea,
crooked your manicured pinky, nibbled brown bourbon
biscuits with your rodent-like friends from the WI.

Upstairs, in the boudoir, your coffee, half drunk,
in its bone china cup, gold-rimmed and discreet
on the tray by your bed. Through the window
that weeps, the aroma of roses from the garden
below with their petals, blood red.

In your handbag an invite to an evening soirée
but please, do not fret. Regrets will be sent.
Madame’s sorry but she cannot attend.

ooo000ooo

Your funeral pyre, dear Madame Dubois, has long-since
gone out and crocodile tears long-since dried.
The Will has been read and your feline companion
with garnet green eyes, sits preening her fur –
now considerably richer than I.

Custom dictates the maid draw back the drapes
this bright, sunny morning in Leamington Spa.
On earth, as it was, and now as in heaven,
more than glass doth us part, dear Madame Dubois.