At six o’clock, as dusk drew near,  
The evening calm would disappear.  
In Winchester Place, a home so bright,  
Turned to sorrow, bathed in light.  

An oil lamp fell, its glass did break,  
And flame leapt up in a fierce mistake.  
The table caught, the fire spread wide,  
No time to run, no place to hide.  

Through curling smoke, through heat’s cruel sting,  
A mother heard her children sing  
Soft voices turned to cries of fright,  
As walls were swallowed, bathed in light.  

Rosa Alice, fierce and true,  
Did what only mothers do.  
Through burning air, she fought, she bled,  
To save the girls she loved and led.  

Through choking smoke, through searing pain,  
She reached for them, again, again,  
Her arms, her shield, her desperate prayer,  
A mother’s love beyond compare. 

She found them there in fire’s hold,  
Her arms defiant, strong, yet bold.  
Through searing pain, she pulled them tight,  
And fled into the choking night.  

But flame and smoke had done their deed,  
Had robbed the air her daughters breathed.  
Though rescued from the fire’s embrace,  
Their fates were sealed in time and place.  

Though Rosa fought with all her might,  
The cruel fire had claimed its right,  
And in the halls where healers tread,  
Her little girls lay still as the dead.  

At Royal South Hants’ halls of white,  
The battle waged that fateful night,  
Yet fate stood firm, it would not bend
Their tiny lives met cruel end.  

Katherine Ethel, only two,  
With baby Rosa Blanche so new,  
Were taken where the angels sleep,  
While loved ones knelt, while loved ones weep.  

Yet love like this does not just fade,  
In ash and sorrow, hope is laid.  
For though they rest in heaven’s keep,  
Their names are whispered, soft and deep.  

Oh, Rosa dear, your scars remain,
A mark of love, of grief, of pain.  
But in the stars, they smile and glow,  
Two little hands still hold you so.

🦋🦋🦋