Miriam Waddington

Thou Didst Say Me

Late as last summer
Thou didst say me, love
I choose you, you, only you.
oh the delicate del-
icate serpent of your lips
the golden lie bedazzled
me with wish and flash
of joy and I was fool.

I was fool, bemused
bedazed by summer, still
bewitched and wandering
in murmur hush in green-
ly sketched-in fields
I was, I was, so sweet
I was, so honied with
your gold of love and love
and still again more love.

late as last autumn
thou didst say me, dear
my doxy, I choose you and
always you, thou didst pledge
me love and through the red-
plumed weeks soberly
I danced upon your words
and garlanded these
tender dangers.

year curves to ending now
and thou dost say me, wife
I choose another love, and oh
the delicate del-
icate serpent of your mouth
stings deep, and bitter
iron cuts and shapes
my death, I was so fool.

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Ten Years and More

When my husband
lay dying a mountain
a lake three
cities ten years
and more
lay between us:

There were our
sons my wounds
and theirs,
despair loneliness,
handfuls of un-
hammered nails
pictures never
hung all

The uneaten
meals and unslept
sleep; there was
retirement, and
worse of all
a green umbrella
he can never
take back.

I wrote him a
letter but all
I could think of 
to say was: Do you
remember Severn
River, the red canoe
with the sail
and lee-boards?

I was really saying
for the sake of our 
youth and our love
I forgave him for
everything
and I was asking him
to forgive me too.

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