The heavy mahogany door with its wrought-iron screen

Shuts. And the sound is rich, sympathetic, discreet.

The sun still shines on this eighteenth-century scene

With Edwardian faience adornment — Devonshire Street.

No hope. And the X-ray photographs under his arm

Confirm the message. His wife stands timidly by.

The opposite brick-built house looks lofty and calm

Its chimneys steady against the mackerel sky.

No hope. And the iron knob of this palisade

So cold to the touch, is luckier now than he

“Oh merciless, hurrying Londoners! Why was I made

For the long and painful deathbed coming to me?”

She puts her fingers in his, as, loving and silly

At long-past Kensington dances she used to do

“It’s cheaper to take the tube to Piccadilly

And then we can catch a nineteen or twenty-two”.



 

***

 

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