Amelia Fielden


translucent waves
   rolling towards the shore
   I have come to see
   we’ll never be lovers
  yellow leaves one by one,
  the mother tree
  lives another autumn –
  kiss me and don’t look back

 has drained the painter’s mind
 dried her brushes –
 ‘orange’ is just a sweet taste
 her husband hand-feeds her
  still empty
  my black lacquer box
  something too precious
  to lie uncovered
 on the finger
 of that handsome young man
 offering his seat,
 a silver wedding ring –
 I still notice such things


   About Amelia Fielden