Miss May Miller

Born in February they called her May
A Co-op secretary in her dancing days

And something broke,
Something snapped,
Something too heavy,
Something choked,
Something something something…

They didn't talk of such things in the good old days
And May was hidden, hidden away
With all the other hidden aways and for always –
Hidden and away.

And yet May is missed,
Miss May Miller missed,
An absence,
A tear
In the fabric of all of it,
This stuff,
This existence,
The Universe shifts for May,
Always a Miss,
May is missed.

So yes, cast a clout as May is out –
But hold on…

A fancy, a flight, I know,
But I picture our May,
Not hidden, not away,
And she says ‘Let it snow’,
And falls that fine powder,
In our sight
Ashes and Dust
Of the purest white

And if you listen closely you can hear
May whisper lovingly: 'thank you dear'


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