The Gardener's Wife
I told my husband, get the cart out;
I think I know where the missing child is.
But they won't find him alive, after all this time.
We'd wondered, through four weeks' high summer;
poppies, nasturtiums wilted; stag beetles and horseflies -
buzzed all day, in the intolerable sun.
His father had only stopped at the inn briefly
in fading August light. They raised the alarm within minutes.
How could one small boy have slipped through so many hands?
It wasn't the twenty pounds reward I cared for.
I just thought that he might not have gone down, but upwards,
past the deep little Ilyn, and if he saw Brecon' s lights
far below, they would only disorient him further.
It was a Sunday. I said, let's get the cart out;
the dream told me to make for the high ground.
Page(s) 15
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