Shelley would have a poem for it ...

I'm sitting under the apple tree, listening to the wind - 

I've put down my torn straw hat - 

Anne's stretched out upon the gentle lawn - 

I've been reading about Mary Shelley in the Villa Diodati - 

I'd forgotten for a while the horrors shown me by my I phone - 

I'd seen flames devour families in a instant, the London sky become a dreadful mirror - 

I'd heard stories too sad and terrible to be retold - 

I remembered then the evasive words, the polished jowls, of the men with blood dabbled hands - 

Shelley would have a poem for it, I thought - 

He'd describe the tears that became stones, the hearts that were fistfuls of dust and banknotes - 

16.27

Thursday 15 June 2017

The Old School House

East Stoke 

Dorset