"I’m not singing tonight,
no procession for me I tell you.
I’ll sit in a corner
with my own angel.
My mother was my best friend,
she died on the fifteenth of April,
six years ago."
"Oh mine died when I was fifteen.
I’m going to watch the helpers sing:
they were coating their throats with honey."
"You can’t get decent honey in Lourdes,
were they using Manuka?"
"I don’t believe in angels,
certainly not the kind you speak about.
But I won’t sing tonight."
"I had so little sleep."
"I never have any trouble sleeping.
They want to clear the tables:
hurry up and drink your coffee."
The two white-haired ladies from Limerick
went their ways
without realising they had similar plans for the evening.