The sunshine of the oppressed – a poem for Iris
When cancer pronounced its death sentence
Iris faced it without fear.
“I’ve had a good life”, she said to all
She wasn’t concerned that her end was near.
Iris’s pride was to be a work horse
Toiling gladly in the revolutionary cause
Day and night come rain or shine
Hour after hour with never a pause.
Every step was advance to freedom
Discouragement in adversity, never a trace
Not a moment ever resenting
Donkeys and thoroughbreds who wouldn’t keep pace.
Service to the people was her glory.
Organiser, thinker, administrator, dogsbody and loyal friend
She was everything.
But now her vital force has flickered and faded to its end.
If we love the revolution as she loved the revolution
Our task now is to become Iris – in the van.
It’s to shed pretension and self-love
It’s to give what she no longer can.
As we say farewell with love and longing
As we weep for whom we needed most
“Back on your heads”, we’ll hear her calling
“No more moping, you’ll miss the post”.
When cancer pronounced its death sentence
Iris faced it without fear.
“I’ve had a good life”, she said to all
And she had.