The Last Bit Of Cake (Final Draft)

(for Eleanor Farjeon, forever)

you should have come in when your mother called you

in from the damp and the dew

in your swiss dotted dress

with the transparent sleeves, your soft cloth shoes.

now all you will have from tea is the leavings

and only the raspberry cream.

only the raspberry cream, you began to sing

making up songs out of anything

the swan's feather

honeycomb, chimney smoke spoken bluer than blue

like a hair ribbon matching your petticoat

and in a foreign wind.

in olde tales the melancholy few

in the damp and the dew

you would have died of fever

on the day it rained

fading with the dreamers

down the lane

and when the sumac yellow

and leaf like flame fell in token

of your leaving

november would reign.

but in my poem

you'll only get a scolding

and the last bit of cake.

mary angela douglas 22 september 2019