Ode to Mrs Olson who always had faith in me.

I remember the hat Mrs. Olson wore
As she rode the bus each day
She’d bought it downtown at Woolworth's
I've forgotten how little she paid

But she cherished its presence above her brow
And was whole when it was in place
It was decked with flowers and Irish crochet
And it shielded the sun from her face

Yet under its brim was the sun itself
As she beamed to the world her love
And rode the bus to St Mary’s
To light candles for those now above

I’d sit as her escort and she’d talk of life
While we wended the bumpy miles
She taught me of duty, and Gods Holy Hand
And to always speak sweetly and smile

Then one chilly morning she wasn't aboard
So I queried the bus driver’s thought
And exited there in the middle of the block
He’d barely just got the bus stopped

I fairly flew as I raced to her door
And knocked, but got no reply
I went around back and found her gone
Then I sat in the garden and cried

I smiled and spoke sweetly, how I’d miss her so
To ne’er see again her bright face
And went to St Mary’s when they laid her to rest
With her hat set neatly in place