Holding Hands (Now with image and audio)

Holding Hands, dedicated to my sister Betty, was written as a poem three hours after she died in my arms. She died at 23.45 on 09/01/2004.
Six months later the tune came to me.





When small I delighted in annoying Betty whenever I could.
She'd sit in a shady spot beneath my tree with a book,
An easy target for me up above; Betty never understood
Me then; and she often gave me that 'elder sister look,'
But she never went far away and that felt good.
I laughed; she jumped when things on her I shook!
If ever I showed I was scared, and quite unplanned,
Betty would come to me and hold my hand.

She was five years my elder; at Lynchet Cottage a bedroom we shared.
Memories of frequent, whispered conversations.
Of frogs in beds; misunderstandings; wild chases; and tempers flared;
A plethora of family days with our relations;
Green-eyed Betty; beautifully slim and auburn-haired;
When nightmares struck, she looked in consternation,
Cared enough to take the time, and quite unplanned,
Betty would come to me and hold my hand.

High days, holidays, time flew fast, shared moments, joys, tears, mirth,
Plymouth, memories flicker past, we grew, loved, wed, and gave birth.
Older, closer, how long did our phone calls last? Betty'd understand,
I held her, as she died, quite unplanned; it was my turn to hold her hand.