Out on the wiley, windy moorsWe’d roll and fall in greenYou had a temper, like my jealousyToo hot, too greedyHow could you leave me?When I needed to possess you?I hated you, I loved you too Bad dreams in the nightThey told me I was going to lose the fightLeave behind my wutherin
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The first time she heard them knocking she was whispering to her neignbour down the ‘phone that this time she was really going to say something this time about it all. Maisie had begun to say something about courage and guts and then this knocking had started, thumping it sounde
Even the ant family had gone away. The pink stones under his old trainers were dark green with neglect, corrupted by his mother’s long, boring illlness and the rows of pots seemed sickly too, glaring at him as an intruder. Everything stared at him, myopic and without compassion.
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Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art– Not in lone splendour hung aloft the nightAnd watching, with eternal lids apart,Like nature’s patient, sleepless Eremite,The moving waters at their priestlike taskOf pure ablution round earth’s human shores,Or gazing on
Anthony had given up on love. He preferred punctuation and expecially he conceded the deft pauses of the semi colon. Such pauses allowed time to still itself momentarily and then to procede with a calming symmetry towrds the final stage of revelation. Anthony adjusted his tie and turn