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The Woman Who Was Said To Be

The woman who was said to be
Unsuitable for amity
Was in the pasture
On her haunches
Cropping grass quietly
The way that cows and horses do.

When I approached and offered her
A handful of delicate, green blades
She raised her face
And gave a smile,
Her mouth crammed full
With sweet, moist green.

I turned away,
I climbed the fence and went home
Leaving far behind that calm kind
And gentle silence.

Which reminds me of a white rabbit
I saw once and it nodded to me
Underneath the moon
As if it knew

I might
Despite my gloom
One day find happiness
To crown my foolishness,
And with it drown
All terrors
Of the mind.

© Morag Emmerson, 1979.
First published in Bananas, 1980.
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