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Sonnet to a Lady

Brought up in an orphanage, she didn’t have any
expectations, trampled on from the word go, few
dreams and modest hopes. At fifteen, a stroke of
luck, maid for people who had many books, she
spent two years reading, not much of a maid, and
they really needed one, so they let her go; but it
was not for her to work with words in an office,
that was for the well constituted people; factory
work then putting sardines into tins, for coppers.
Pregnancies, early marriage, an unhappy one, he
was a drunk. Her children died young she had to
follow them to the grave. She continued to read,
but to modest to write, into old age; sharp mind,
dignity and laughter that’s what I remember.   


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