Till clearer gleams his candle's spark

Into the dusty summer dark.

Then from his crosslegs he gets down,

To find how dark the evening's grown;

And hunched-up in his door he'll hear

The cricket whistling crisp and clear;

And so beneath the starry grey

Will mutter half a seam away.

[Pg 10]

[Pg 10]

MARTHA

'Once ... once upon a time ...'

Over and over again,

Martha would tell us her stories,

In the hazel glen.

Hers were those clear grey eyes

You watch, and the story seems

Told by their beautifulness

Tranquil as dreams.

She'd sit with her two slim hands

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