The Mother

On leaving Bedlam, she might have found peace
for a moment, a day, a year, perhaps
but for the shroud of night she took with her.

Instead, she dressed in the simpleton's smile
which she wore with conviction and with style,
persuaded family of her madness.

Given a jolt or two of their reason,
she stumbled into electric respite -
found humility, humour, sanity

of sorts. Yet in the quiet and dark hours,
he loved to listen to her sweet singing,
wild and wanton, careless with perfection.