But there was one who was the paragon,

that separated wife who wore a hat –

I wrote some lines about her, later on –

nanny and mother’s help. I marvel at

The love I bear her still, remembering

the comfort she provided, and her vice,

Strong Drink, that was, to us, a sinful thing.

She came to us, and stayed and left us, twice.

The first phase finished with that fatal trip

pramming me somewhere to her tippling friends,

not to the promised park. The second ends

when her drunk husband shouted at her gate.

Though she’s secure in my heart’s fellowship,

my love achieved its utterance too late.