Anne Hathaway Remembers

They say that he was good,

but I don’t know.

I never left this town in all my life.

It was he came back to me.

What he left behind I cannot say.

He could talk.

Oh Lord, could he be sweet.

No sweeter man drew breath,

that I am sure. Young he was,

and quiet, when we met.

Handfasted in the spring of ’82,

Wed by winter, child inside,

Susanna, then the twins,

then he was gone.

And so it was,

twenty year with letters,

only words, words and words

to live on, words to dream on,

and I did, each night

hid safe beneath me in

our second best bed.

Comments 12

 
Rosy Cole on Saturday, 01 August 2015 22:29

Did he know what she'd done with those letters when he bequeathed her that bed at the end?

Did he know what she'd done with those letters when he bequeathed her that bed at the end?
Stephen Evans on Saturday, 01 August 2015 22:56

Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move,

Doubt thou the stars are fire, Doubt that the sun doth move,
Rosy Cole on Saturday, 01 August 2015 23:06

It doesn't sound as though the earth had much chance...

It doesn't sound as though the earth had much chance...
Stephen Evans on Sunday, 02 August 2015 03:20

Apparently this was Pre-Copernican Denmark.

Apparently this was Pre-Copernican Denmark.
Rosy Cole on Sunday, 02 August 2015 16:34

That explains so much.

That explains so much.
Katherine Gregor on Sunday, 02 August 2015 09:03

I have enjoyed your exchange with Rosy as much as your poem. Ah, if only I could invite you both for dinner.

I have enjoyed your exchange with Rosy as much as your poem. Ah, if only I could invite you both for dinner.
Rosy Cole on Sunday, 02 August 2015 23:16

p.s. Occurs to me that emails would have been somewhat difficult to keep under the mattress.

p.s. Occurs to me that emails would have been somewhat difficult to keep under the mattress.
Stephen Evans on Monday, 03 August 2015 13:57

She probably kept her laptop in the trundle.

She probably kept her laptop in the trundle.
Rosy Cole on Tuesday, 04 August 2015 00:04

Sometimes, I marvel at your facility for metaphysical skyping :-)

Sometimes, I marvel at your facility for metaphysical skyping :-)
Stephen Evans on Tuesday, 04 August 2015 02:04

I wonder if I could get a patent for that...

I wonder if I could get a patent for that...
Virginia M Macasaet on Sunday, 13 October 2019 06:15

Love this! So eloquent!

Love this! So eloquent!
Stephen Evans on Monday, 14 October 2019 20:49

When I wrote this, I wonder if I knew that it was (almost) a sonnet:

They say that he was good, but I don’t know.
I never left this town in all my life.
It was he came back to me.
What he left behind I cannot say.
He could talk. Oh Lord, could he be sweet.
No sweeter man drew breath, that I am sure.
Young he was, and quiet, when we met.
Handfasted in the spring of ’82,
Wed by winter, child inside, Susanna,
then the twins, and he was gone.
And so it was, twenty year with letters,
only words, words and words to live on,
words to dream on, and I did, each night
hid safe beneath me in our second best bed.

When I wrote this, I wonder if I knew that it was (almost) a sonnet: They say that he was good, but I don’t know. I never left this town in all my life. It was he came back to me. What he left behind I cannot say. He could talk. Oh Lord, could he be sweet. No sweeter man drew breath, that I am sure. Young he was, and quiet, when we met. Handfasted in the spring of ’82, Wed by winter, child inside, Susanna, then the twins, and he was gone. And so it was, twenty year with letters, only words, words and words to live on, words to dream on, and I did, each night hid safe beneath me in our second best bed.
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Stephen Evans Anne Hathaway Remembers
14 October 2019
When I wrote this, I wonder if I knew that it was (almost) a sonnet:They say that he was good, but I...
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Love this! So eloquent!
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