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Maureen
for Maureen Toley
She
left without fuss
in the greenness of June.
Lads
at pub tables
kept mobiles to their ears; girls
downed
their glasses of white wine;
kids prepared to leave schools, mums
juggled
wants and needs, as they
have always done; middle-aged men
stared
into their beers, thinking
they had almost grasped something—
and
passed by the church where she was known,
unaware that an old woman had left
faith
like the evening sunlight,
hope like the extravagant green trees
and
love like a slow wick in tallow
burning in a thousand hearts.
© Godfrey Rust 1999, godfrey@wordsout.co.uk. See here for permissions.
.