Where were you Shirley of the Sanguine Lake?
Where did you disappear? The echoes of your empty house
Were almost stilled yet held to soar the scheming rough
And quaver in a hollow fear. We raked the mirrored water’s edge
And poled the willow shrouded brakes,
We plumbed the deep and darked ledge
And traced dimensions of our own despair,
Then waked in light to fete your coming home
– A home revered.
Who are you, Shirley of the Mall, who will you be
When you walk the shifting shingle banks
That line the random riverside?
Who will you be with your red, red hair?
Where will you be Shirley of Serendipity?
Are you there?
For Shirley, who survives…