entry picture

I’d gone to find a memorial plaque

in deepest darkest Surrey,

but fell upon a verdant garden

and Rhode Island Red Hens.


A beautiful English woman tended them.


I spoke with her across the hedge

she pointed out the Manor house,

a killing place in days long gone.


We dismissed the boundaries,

she made me tea.

and I complimented her fine shrubbery.


She seemed alone

her husband gone,

from this England

she'd settled on.


And strangely

we then made love

though no reason we could find

why we fitted like a fashioned glove,


she’s often on my mind.



◄ A storm without an ark

Hole ►


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