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A War-time Wife
Full with child
a long parallel waiting: an anxiety;
Together living, dying
with nine-month torrents,
torpedoed with building wars
and swelling with fragrant hope
knotted to pain, pleasure and resentment;
Living, dragging on weary muscles
Till one day, maybe night,
raids rupture hope in expectancy:
Fertility perishing in thatched graves
to drive lead-like tears
down slippery times
and swallowed by history’s gorgons.