This poem is taken from Stand 225, 18(1) March - May 2020.

Hilary Hares Two Poems

The garden is small,
its light infinite.

Viewed from the white bench
against the white wall

curve meets angle at a point
of perfection,

each piece completing the space,
the sun footlight and spotlight.

Here, her talent showed stone
its true self until she, too,

was recast by the furnace
into something elemental.


She was a Polish Red cow
with a coppery hide,
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