She wore lines from the senses
Her ancestors gave her
And broke both her arms
In the honour of industry
And though people wept
At the picture of helplessness
Tears in the flood were a smear in the mud
Well I kiss in the shadows
She calls from the grave
All missing the people gave and then gave
And then went
Old by standard and young by another
Too old for the landslide
That killed both the brothers
For being but a sapling
When they were the oak
And then married by twenty
In the cares can’t come
Home is a parable
Death is comparable
We’ve been pruning your grave
Since the day you locked your door
Welcome the deity born by a river
And thought of him daily
It brought but a shiver
And cold in the mornings
We’ll step on the dawn
As the days in the saddle
Life more than addled
She drinks for the blood
Of a tupenny bit
Laughs through a tear
As she loses her wits and her wicks