Maids and Men

too young to know she’s young

heavying on my porcelain arm,

she laughed in her sleep

and me, rotten through with self-righteousness,

milking life for all I can:

I dreamt, and dream and lie awake again.

Musing on anniversaries

and trees – the only Elm in the parish

or the given fig, seeds sown and grown

he takes his tea

and those who can, remember jokes

and onion soup and dignity,

Old Spice and hedgehogs finding milk


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