“the leaking thatch drip,
the murmur of the rain”
—Ted Hughes, “Error,”
Birthday Letters

Under the drumming thatch—
I sit here listening to the rain

My vicarage rotting like a coffin—
Foundering in the weeds

Sitting at my elm desk alone—
Staring at a blank sheet of paper

The silent typewriter waits—
Leaky days, murder in the rain

Ted brought me to Devon—
And that’s where I buried him 

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