For Hattie
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| How my heart with passion quakes... Oh, how my heart with passion quakes For my beloved Hattie Jacques. Haunted by her lips, her eyes, Her starched white apron over thighs, Which thunder through my ward of sighs As Matron cross my dreams she flies. Whilst invigilating exams, sometime in the 90s Imagist poem (after Ezra Pound) Like the sparrow Whose meagre shape Failed to contain A startled soul, You, also, slipped from my hands. Different mood, about the same time |
