LOVED D Clark's cat poem. I'm not honest about mine
now, because too many male editors were sniffy about
"women writing cat poems". So now I don't tell them.
When I got this one published, the editor assumed it
was about a friend (which it was; I just didn't tell
him the friend in question was called Snowflake) By
the way, like everyone else I've been updating my web
site too (http://x-stream.fortunecity.com/sonicst/68)-
I now have a page of translations on it.
Unkindness
"A dead man is so like to a man sleeping",
whispered the professor, when she laid eyes
on the gentle face a peat-spade turned over
in Tollund bog. The centuries-old unkindness
that buried him there had marked his brow only
with little furrows, like a man's in a dream.
He lay relaxed and peaceful. She almost thought
she could have shaken his shoulder and woken him.
So I feel, seeing you there, a little stiffer
than usual, so that lifting your slight weight
is no such easy matter. I can't notice
anything missing; no, not even the light
of wit in your open eyes. There is just the stiffness
and a little crust of dried blood at the mouth,
and is that any reason to leave a kind companion
alone for an iron age in the black earth?
Cheers
Sheenagh
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