Her life was fraught,
and cash was short,
baby farming eked a living,
but by her touch,
they died too much,
there could be no forgiving.
Little Eva and Dot,
straight from the cot,
sealed the fate that hanged her,
her neck went crack,
like the clickety clack,
of a train which smelt of murder.
Laudanum and smothering,
were Dean's way of mothering,
with trickery guile and daring,
but who was to tell,
beyond a faint smell,
the bairns were well beyond caring.
