A poem on the subject of ‘The Universe’
The cosmos never featured in her life,
She’d read no scientific articles
Had Sitwell’s ‘Mrs Hague, the gardener’s wife’,
On space or subatomic particles;
The weekly round of chores was all her lot,
Days washing, baking, cooking and the rest,
Though, on the Sabbath, off to church she’d trot
With brooch and bible, dressed in Sunday best;
Fenced in was Mrs Hague’s small universe,
While stars wheeled overhead she’d spend her hours
On tasks she found sufficiently diverse,
Preparing fruits for jam or tending flowers.
The Universe for some might be profound
But Mrs Hague’s was rooted to the ground.
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