Ursula Askham Fanthorpe

(22 July 1929 – 28 April 2009 / London)

Idyll - Poem by Ursula Askham Fanthorpe

Not knowing even that we're on the way,
Until suddenly we're there. How shall we know?

There will be blackbirds, in a late March evening,
Blur of woodsmoke, whisky in grand glasses,

A poem of yours, waiting to be read, and one of mine;
A reflective bitch, a cat materialized

On a knee. All fears of present and future
Will be over, all guilts forgiven.

Maybe, heaven. Or maybe
We can get so far in this world. I'll believe we can.

Form: Idyll or Idyl

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Poem Submitted: Friday, October 23, 2015

Poem Edited: Friday, May 20, 2016

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