Tuesday, 31 January 2017
Neither Jealousy, hunched in a ditch,
Scrutinising that face,
Nor Envy in high branches,
Downwards-looking, quantifying that.
No one sets Regret clattering,
Yet, like a star, it burns more brightly,
The instant 'what might have been'
Is expelled from the sky.
Like Etruscan ancients we trawl the past
Mapping the flashes of our stars.
© Wendy Vacani
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