Isobel

I remember when you flew too close to the sun.
That flash lit up our entire horizon.
From East to West there were obituary’s written.
Passing traders spoke of the tragedy that was your immolation.

As years passed an edifice to you was erected.
No name carved which left many conflicted.
For you had been our most favourite daughter.
Brave and fierce you faced what became your slaughter.

Decades now and your grave is swamped.
Swallowed up by natures ever reaching fist.
Your tale sadly has been reduced to myth.
But I recall every detail with crystal clarity.

Fifty years since that fateful day.
Now I am old, unsteady and white not grey.
Your monolith has sunk into the marsh.
I am the last to recite a story now perceived as farce.

Ninety two and on my final wheezes.
Finally your name has seen increases.
Temple erected around your ‘final’ resting place.
A smile that brings to my now resting face.