Poetry

Whereupon I play with a dictionary

Ian Mcleod

I thought she was of Faerie
seated above the prairie,
as in an aviary:
she, of the great constabulary
from here to Tipperary.
I didn't see dear Mary,
of that I'm sure--very,
and He I didn't see them bury.
As with all these things, nary
a doubt shall enter my Inner Sanctuary.
I think she was of Faerie.