(Lines for the lady medic)

 

You`ll laugh and say, `That poets in a plight`

That, `He`ll remember nothing` or maybe fret,

That `being three parts drunken on the night

`the things he said were anyway all lies`

 

But, love, could I forget,

How the laughter, capering with the light,

Danced wild Antrim-antics in your eyes?

Or that your voice had in it, when you talked,

The sound of the west wind waking an Irish dawn

(Full of quiet lilt) And, Kathy – when you walked –

How you queened it, to the manner born?

 

(You spoke of some, sad, twisted love affair

And as you spoke it seemed the music died,

And all the people of the upper-air

Fled to some far corner of heaven and cried)

 

But none of this, nor your unlikely trade,

Lent the poet`s power to my pen.

But–when you`d gone–the way your memory made

The affection come in the voices of the men.