ABSTRACT
we are old, we are old, we are old, nearly dead we are women with no breasts or brains in our head we are useless, we are toothless, we are stupid and unseen we scavenge in the dirt where nothing is clean - - but oh my fair, my sweetest fair what has happened to that long black hair and where is the light in those wide brown eyes and the red, red twist of those lips that kissed - oh my fair, my sweetest fair what has happened to that lovely there? - gone, love, gone for a stitch and a song done, quite done on a game not won spent, yes, spent and still more lent paid, all paid on a cloth that frayed lost, love, lost an impossible cost. - but why, my fair, my sweetest one why is it gone for a stitch and a song why quite done on a game not won? and if it’s done and gone and spent why more to be paid and lost and lent? - 107it was the sin that did it in and shame that wrecked the game it was brave intent that lent and spent and things to be made for what was paid and it was love that lost and cost the most. we are old, we are old, we are old, clearly mad we have passed all the places where there’s pleasure to be had we are formless, we are senseless, we are barren and obscene we have nothing left of what we might have been.
