letra de a wife in london - john joubert
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she sits in the tawny vapour
that the thames-side lanes have uprolled
behind whose webby fold on fold
like a waning taper
the street-lamp glitters cold
a messenger’s knock cracks smartly
flashed news is in her hand
of meaning it dazes to understand
though shaped so shortly:
he – has fallen – in the far south land…
’tis the morrow; the fog hangs thicker
the postman nears and goes:
a letter is brought whose lines disclose
by the firelight flicker
his hand, whom the worm now knows:
fresh-firm-penned in highest feather –
page-full of his hoped return
and of home-planned jaunts by brake and burn
in the summer weather
and of new love that they would learn
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