Old Missus Farrell knew everything about damn near nothing – she dressed just as her mother had done, a rip-roaring and delicately manicured disgrace
This pock-marked face holds a place in no-one’s heart
She will plough away at the small garden out back ’til her father’s arms are showing once more – a none too pretty picture, carrying with her her very own peculiar and altogether homegrown scripture
Leaving us all sick to the stomach by the evening’s rather tempting end, dependent upon turning a ten thousandth blind eye at a time
This sudden storm turning out to be none too warm at all