Hi Liz,
I love poems like this! The gentleness and tenderness I discover even though 
I'm only reading about a tree, a bus, geese...
Do you need the last two lines?
I sense what they say can stay hidden!
Bob



>   From: Liz Bassett
>   To: [log in to unmask]
>   Sent: Sunday, July 23, 2006 12:57 PM
>   Subject: new post. You said I notice things
>
>
>   This is a strange wee poem that I wrote yesterday.  I'm sure I will 
>regret letting it out when it's hardly been edited (!) but I'd really 
>welcome any comments that you have.
>
>   Thanks, Liz
>
>
>
>   You said I notice things
>
>
>
>   Some days it hurt too much to write
>
>   about a tree or a bus on a street
>
>   or even the slow flight of geese
>
>   and find you there amongst the words.
>
>
>
>   Now that the swallows have turned twice
>
>   across this open sky forgive me if I write
>
>   about the evening I took your hands and held
>
>   your head, and looked at you, and knew.
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>------------------------------------------------------------------------------
>
>   [log in to unmask]
>
>------------------------------------------------------------------------------
>
>
>----------------------------------------------------------------------------
>     From: Gill McEvoy <[log in to unmask]>
>     Reply-To: The Pennine Poetry Works <[log in to unmask]>
>     To: [log in to unmask]
>     Subject: new post. The Bath.
>     Date: Wed, 5 Jul 2006 22:22:29 +0100
>
>
>     I apologise to you all that I haven't posted/commented lately; been 
>very busy with the launch of "Uncertain Days" my first chap book. But it's 
>sailed away now, and I'm back to normal things again.
>
>     This poem was written recently  - and no doubt wants much improving - 
>but it comes from 6 years ago when I was so ill I was in the local Hospice 
>for a while, where a very kind Irish nurse gave me the best bath of my 
>life!
>
>     The Bath.
>
>     The point of that bath was not to be clean -
>     I had gone nowhere but my bed and
>     was already washed.
>     You came to tell me it was run,
>     walked before me, your arms full of towels,
>     as if I were a lady and you my maid.
>     You helped me in, your hands tender for my safety;
>     I sank into a sweetness of heat and foam,
>     each burst bubble like a letting go of pain.
>     'Take your time', you said, and in that time
>      I cruised islands of warm sand and soft ocean,
>     woodlands moist with leaves and mist,
>     summer days with bright red berries blinking out
>     from golden straw, came back
>     to you wrapping me gently in hot towels.
>     It was like those nights of perfect sleep,
>     soft, starless, bliss.
>
>     Gill McEvoy.
>
>     I'd be very glad of comments.
>
>
>