Guest post:
She gazes at fields of Brandywine corn
in the dark, barely morn, and a sliver of sunlight
catches the mirror in her attic bower
her face pale as flour, she first turns away, then a glance on the run
she’s tidy and slender, her hair in a bun
she’s a seamstress, bow-maker, a candlelight sewer, with
a dress to deliver, to a brownstone, near the river with
sun-shaded grass, pale green as the eyes on this willowy lass
in her white dress, reading sonnets by Shakespeare and Byron
on a path where the mills make gun powder she goes, as
smoke from the sulphur crinkles her nose, then
a gentleman passes with barely a look…
she keeps on walking and closes her book
“you haven’t a clue, you don’t know what you missed.”
she whispers, then adds, “…and I’ve never been kissed.”
~ Mike Sackett
Missives Worth Reading 
Perfect. Just as it is. Perfect.
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