It rang!
And what a frozen spell was broken
Then.
Bated, cramped and ingrown
Lay,
Cold Sufferance on an ochre
Day.
It rang!
And from that Hampshire voice no
Promises,
But something deeper, ineffably
Grand,
An inner thought through a dialling
Hand.
It rang!
"Come to lunch, we're having
Roast".
Her consonants and vowels felled
All,
Un-hemmed the temper's day, within one
Call.
c 90.
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if that is some of your 'lesser' pieces i dread to think how great your good bits are!
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