If a woman visits a gentleman friend

And finds on his cluttered

Dining table

An open-faced letter

Which she herself wrote many weeks ago

What is she to think?

Is it at his elbow for regular reference

With chops and chutney?

To muse over with a midnight brandy?

Or is it, in fact, simply

Of no more moment

Than yesterday’s stale bread?

 

 

 

Cynthia Buell Thomas