Michael Edwards

THE WHITE FROCKED MAID

 

 

THE WHITE FROCKED MAID

 

The peeling sign beside the door

declared her place of residence

a simple girl and proud to bear

a birth which knew no social laws

untouched as yet by consequence

 

Beneath her crafted counterpane

she lay there stilled in reverie

in places where confusion lies

until with rhythmic grace she rose

in soft half tones of morning light.

 

With spectral ease she crossed the room

to lean against the mullion stone

and gaze beyond towards the mill

where logs were piled in readiness

and as the wood on lathe is turned,

appreciation took on form

advancing her maturity.