Friday, 16 December 2011


I remember the details,
crystal-clear, of our contract, 
and I remember, razor-sharp, 
each moment, day and night. 

I grovelled for scraps from 
the plate at your table, 
dry crumbs and crusts 
a banquet to the 
beggar-woman, starved.

Fool, she is, 
weeding her garden, 
hoping next spring, 
for lilies to grow. 

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