(for Gillian Clarke)
The workshop table,
The quiet disciples,
The last red wine
Rubbed from our eyes.
We’ve got 11 coffee cups
11 notebooks
11 supportive smiles
We’re ready for her.
We’re damn well ready
For anything!
We check the time...
We shuffle and sip...
Some of us suspect
A trick...
Some of us consider
Dashing up the stairs
And dialling
999!
Meanwhile...
Our poet mother
Sails under the bridge,
Ophelia
On the ebbing tide
Drowning
And waving
Like a stately ship
With her mad grey hair
Streaming
Proudly behind.
Ty Newydd 11/3/93