So Dear Miss Forster

So Dear Miss Forster awake first light,

Did dreams of Love pervade the Night?

And tell you Tales of promise lost,

Then the Mornings void display the cost?

And Dear Miss Forster groomed with care,

Adorned in grey with ‘Louise Brook’ Hair,

So grand and sure in your competent stride,

Is there a ‘Past’ your demurest hides?

Would there be Letters tied Ribbons of blue

In a box under laundry of white,

That tell of the years and a Heart to confide,

And bring on a tear for the Passion they write.

Come out your home of Paris-Prints

And closeted rooms of China and Chintz,

The Bordered Lilacs by the green,

Your ageing Fiat Sunday Cleaned.

For so at Nine the School Day dawns

Where the Children now wait in file,

Their little Hearts that tend towards

Their Star with the desolate smile.

Teach them to drink life’s fruitful fare,

And not to rue all chance laid bare.

For Dear Miss Forster who bides alone

These Infant loves and none her own,

Still guide those Shoots and with care attend 

And in their Hearts your Kindness send.                           Oh Dear Miss Forster of Emilia Square,

Your unblemished Home now Waiting there,

The Library Book, Needle, Cotton undone,

The Sun drawing down and a Sherry for one.