In Florence’s old age, a lifeboat, a racehorse,
and babies are named after her. Admirers write ballads,
piano pieces, and books in her honor.
A pledge named after her
is recited by devoted nurses around the world.
Merchants print her portrait on grocery bags.
She becomes the first woman elected
to the Royal Statistical Society.
Florence is almost ninety when she puts down
her pen on a desk covered with stacks of letters,
some with sealing wax stamped with a crown.
She switches on a new lamp that needn’t be filled with oil,
pushes back the lace curtains, looks out
at protesters who wave signs reading: VOTES FOR WOMEN!
Florence remembers the girl she used to be,
and silently, happily, counts women who want more.