Photo by Tobias Bju00f8rkli on

The parsnip soup was delicate yet strong..

Here the flavour lingers on my tongue

We had chopped fruit and ice cream in a tub

All I need is he whom I still love.

I need to be caressed but not too much

I shall beat off strangers with a crutch

For women are no longer victims of strong men

Hear my words and write them with a pen

My child

Before a year had passed I lost our child

No longer newly weds on the Church aisle

No longer pure and innocent and free

In love with death for God has tortured me

I am not Job my bloody sheets agree

I’ll not beg for mercy , hear my plea

O dangerous cliffs I’ll wander with the wild

For God has killed my heart and now my child.

St Margaret’s Bay

St Margaret’s Bay,the lighthouse,the green grass

,The Kentish light,the avenues of glass

See across the Channel where they hide

Drowning migrants rolling on the tide.

Who are they,we say in cruel tone ?

Jesus lived in Bethlehem, not Rome

Higher climbs the butterfly in sun .

Disappearing, burnt to Kingdom come