TRIP TO WINDSOR CASTLE POEM 27

Poetry uses fewer words than prose and conversation. It distils emotion in a way that prose tends not to - and so it is the enabler of the lover. Romance carried away in the word remains on the page to digest and imagine. In the imagination is where love exists, to be fed by futility or encouragement.

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“It isn't possible to love and part. You will wish that it was. You can transmute love, ignore it, muddle it, but you can never pull it out of you. I know by experience that the poets are right: love is eternal.” E.M. Forster

Battlement

I am bereft of you again,

As your step was away,

Rather than towards me,

And within me lies a battle.

It seems quite unfit,

That such a direction

Be taken without permission,

Or commission from me.

For you are mine,

And familiar to me,

My dolls did not run,

And my bears cuddle dutifully.

So how can I reproach you?

As your step seems so

Very quick that I must

Use express to find you.

“Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.” William Shakespeare