Tuesday, July 19, 2016


I step over robin fledglings in the garden, and help the old man pull the hinge from a rotten door.
Aye Steph, that I once shunned you makes my suffering, as I wait at the British Embassy's postern, more.
You were right, I struggled when you left for Nice; my impassiveness from which I presumed to further draw
Became redundant, and I grew ashamed; and now, pray that you are alive, and not grieving for your children or
Your husband, I hope the consul will not reveal who enquired after you—I who did not esteem your
Parting admonition. I assent to its sentiments now, remembering how on the day before
You moved from Crondall, seven years ago, you were perturbed. Age advanced, my hair is ash of aigremore,
But care for you is vibrant, and yet belied by a consul's triage that factors in how I forswore 
Our kindredship, to recommend my solicitude be allocated a non-priority score.