Of Love Lost

by Tim Jarvis

I lost the Hull I knew, my faithful mistress.
She's become London to me.
All friendlessness and life-strife,
With none of London's gains.

Mistress,
My provincial oddity,
Lost.
Her comfortable bosom gone.

This could be Milton Keynes,
Or dreary Slough, now.
How could you slip away Hull?
Without a requiem?

Let me tell you my dreadful sentence,
The punishment handed down,
My terrible fate,
I must wait.

Here,
Until my youngest daughter's grown,
And
Flown.

Wait and sigh and wonder,
What became of my lover?
Wait and groan,
Until,

That day when I like you,
Hull spirit,
Can quietly slip away,
Unsung,

Never to return.

09-Apr-2006

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