by Rosemary Tonks
No, this is not my life, thank God
worn out like this, and crippled by brain-fag;
Obsessed first by one person, and then
(Almost at once) most horribly besotted by another;
These Februaries, full of draughts and cracks,
They belong to the people in the streets, the others
Out there haberdashers, writers of menus.