Poem

They blamed her dad for giving her ideas.
Not, God forbid, they found ambition wrong!
But for young girls it seemed unnatural.
To be a lady's-maid or needlewoman was admirable -
Next best to being a wife -
But to speak with equal grammar and more thought
Than one's employer; there danger lay.
Better a mindless wretch scrubbing floors
Than being cause for embarrassing one's betters.
Hide your wonder in the drab of service,
Who knows, you might get pregnant by the master -
Or sacked for not.
But she, poor girl, was damaged by the spring.
Blood and body burgeoning into floods of flowers
Beauty bludgeoned her.
Overlooking Boxhill, late light casting shadow
...