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Edward Dyson - Sister Ann
Work rating: Low

I`m lyin` in a narrow bed, 
   `N` starin` at a wall. 
Where all is white my plastered head 
   Is whitest of it all. 
My life is jist a whitewashed blank, 
   With flamin` spurts of pain. 
I dunno who I`ve got to thank, 
I`ve p`raps been trod on by a tank, 
   Or caught out in the rain 
   When skies were peltin` fish-plates, bricks 
     `n` lengths of bullock-chain. 

I`m lyin` here, a sulky swine, 
   `N` hatin` of the bloke 
Who`s in the doss right next to mine 
   With `arf his girders broke. 
He never done no `arm t me, 
   `N` he`s pertickler ill; 
But I have got him snouted, see, 
`N` all old earth beside but she 
   Come with the chemist`s swill, 
   `N` puts a kind, soft `and on mine, `n` all 
     my nark is still. 

She ain`t a beaut, she`s thirty two, 
   She scales eleven stone; 
But, `struth, I didn`t think it true 
   There was such women grown! 
She`s nurse `n` sister, mum `n` dad, 
   `N` all that straight `n` fine 
In every girl I ever had. 
When Gabr`el comes, `n` all the glad 
   Young saints are tipped the sign, 
   You`ll see this donah take her place, first 
     angel in the line! 

She`s sweet `n` cool, her touch is dew— 
   Wet lilies on yer brow. 
(Jist `ark et me what never knew 
   Of lilies up to now). 
She fits your case in `arf a wink, 
   `N` knows how, why, `n` where. 
If you are five days gone in drink, 
N` hoverin` on perdition`s brink, 
   It is her brother there. 
   God how pain will take a man, and 
     He has spoke with her! 

I dunno if she ever sleeps 
   Ten minutes at a stretch. 
A dozen times a night she creeps 
   To soothe a screamin` wretch 
Who has a tiger-headed Hun 
   A-gnawin` at his chest. 
`N` when the long, `ard flght is won, 
`N` he is still `n` nearly done, 
   She smiles down on his rest, 
   `N` minds me of a mother with a baby at her 
     breast. 

The curly kid we cuddled when 
   There was no splendid row 
(It seemed a little matter then, 
   But feels so wondrous now). 
It`s part of her. She`s Joan iv Ark, 
   Flo Nightingale, all fair 
`N` dinkum dames who`ve made their mark 
If she comes tip-toe in the dark, 
   We blighters feel her there. 
   The whole pack perks up like a bird, `n` 
     sorter takes the air. 

She chats you in a `Ighland botch; 
   But if our Sis saw fit 
To pitch Hindoo instead of Scotch 
   I`d get the hang of it, 
Because her heart it is that talks 
   What now is plain to me. 
At war where bloody murder stalks, 
`N` Nick his hottest samples hawks. 
   I have been given to see 
   What simple human kindness is, what 
     brotherhood may be.
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