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 |  Poetry written in the past years with WDC |
I loved to see her face dancing about but I dreamed Dallas nightmares the evening of her death I bought her in The Star and knew that we lost her in a matter of minutes, her pink dresses her pink rose smile all her glory of being a First Lady. There was no woman prettier . Her little sins need not be accounted for now. I left her cold. I think of her from time to time, while a retired nun delivers the newspapers like an Eleanor Rigby. So this sews up her man crossing the desert. Don't smoke pot. Don't get aids. Let the good grace of Madeline in London always last forever in a line, a dizzying line. Why put flowers for Diana down (but to rot and compost). They are lovely with her dandelion hair mixing in the breeze from Chatsworth to Belvoir. Keep playing bridge at the Country Club may well be what they chat about as they play scrolls of music for a princess and daydream on pins and needles. |
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